Hunted and Hated
by Quill N. Inque
Summary: Number One in my Historical KURTTY Series. In 16th Century Spain, Kurt Wagner is on the run from the Spanish Inquisition... COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men Evolution.

(Disclaimer: Let me set the record straight right now… I have NOTHING against the Catholic Church or its followers. The use of the Inquisition in this story is purely for entertainment value, and is in _no way, shape or form_ a statement of political or religious opinion. One more thing: in this AU fic, Kurt retains his appearance but lacks teleportation; Kitty has been reinvented as a normal human.)

Chapter 1: A Narrow Escape!

"If there is a God, whence proceed so many evils? If there is no God, whence cometh any good?" -Boethius

_Our story begins in the Zaragoza Province of what is now Aragon, Spain, in the year 1573…_

Pant. Pant. Pant.

A shadowy, bizarre-looking figure gasped for breath as it hurtled down the cobblestone streets. Its mind was racing with panic and fear, and it turned onto a narrower road in a vain attempt to escape its pursuers. Only mere yards away, a crossbow made a loud _twang_ as it discharged its deadly bolt, and the fugitive gasped as the metal embedded itself in a barrel where his head had been only seconds before. The cries and shouts of the angry citizens sent pangs of hurt and despair shooting through its heart like a volley of arrows, and he could hear, quite clearly, the threats and insults that they threw his way.

"He went that way!"

"That unholy creature won't escape us this time!"

"Have your swords at the ready, men! The Demon will be sent back to Hell before this night is done!"

"Get him!"

"Kill him!"

A sob escaped the runaway's lips, and for a brief instant, white fangs were visible in the soft moonlight. His three-fingered hands shoved barrels and crates from their pedestals as he continued to flee, the purpose of which was to slow down his inexorable foes, the men who had hunted him from the coast of Portugal to Zaragoza, where he was now. These were the same fanatics that desired his death at the hands of the Church, nothing more, nothing less.

Kurt Wagner was on the run from the forces of the Spanish Inquisition.

For months now they had hounded him, silently stalking the young mutant like deadly shadows, stirring up angry mobs and crazed villagers in an ever more desperate attempt to catch him. Wherever the Kurt went, wherever he had tried to hide, the squads of the Inquisition were never far behind. Now, after months of pursuit, weak from almost constant fleeing and malnourished from want of food, Kurt felt the jaws of the Church begin to close around him. _I should have gone towards the Northern coast,_ he thought. _I could have stowed away on a ship and be gone by now._

It did not matter that he had never tried to hurt anyone. Nor did it matter that he never caused harm to those who desired his death. No, the only proof the Inquisition needed was his demonic appearance; if he looked like an agent of Lucifer, then Kurt had to be one. If he was caught, his trial would probably last inside of ten minutes before he screamed his last at the stake.

Kurt stumbled over an inconveniently placed water jug, no doubt left in his path hours earlier by a forgetful housewife. The clay vessel shattered as the mutant fought to regain his balance, and the loud noise only served to let his pursuers know that they were closing in. The smartly clad soldiers of the Inquisition thundered down the alley after him, followed by a veritable horde of Zaragoza's angry citizens, who had been inflamed with hate and bigotry by the Inquisition's propaganda against poor Kurt. In a scene worthy of _Frankenstein,_ the large group brandished an assortment of weaponry in the air: pitchforks, swords, and other weapons cast eerie shadows in the torches' glow, and Kurt felt his heart beat faster in his furry chest.

_Twang._

Something sharp lodged itself in Kurt's shoulder, and a fine spray of blood heralded his injury. Another deadly piece of crossbow ammunition protruded from his back, and it was only with Herculean effort that Kurt kept from crying out in pain.

_Twang._

The mutant staggered again, hit by a second well-placed shot, the cold metal shredding flesh and tissue as it drove deep into his hip. Dripping blood and fighting to stay conscious as his tail drooped like a withering flower, Kurt desperately looked about for an escape, any escape, any chance to get away as the Inquisition began to close the distance.

_Twang._

"GAAAAAAAAAAH!" Kurt made no effort to muffle his agony as another merciless shot hit him in the upper part of his forearm. _No, please... Don't…._

"Nice shot!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, and Kurt began to panic even more as his voice grew ever closer. "These blessed bolts are surely burning the foul blood in the Demon's veins!"

Kurt's vision began to blur, and his skin started turning an unhealthy bluish-grey due to loss of blood. With no thought or particular strategy in mind, he ran pell-mell down the ancient streets in a last-ditch bid for freedom. Kurt's yellow eyes flashed this way and that, but no avenue of escape presented itself.

As he continued to flee, the clustered buildings of Zaragoza rapidly gave way to the Spanish countryside. Here, farmers and shepherds lived as they had always lived for hundreds of years, and the small houses that grew fewer and fewer in between were simple and functional. Kurt didn't have time to take in the scenery, and for a moment he resigned himself to his fate until-

There. This house was dark, and that meant its occupants were either out on the town or asleep. Kurt's heart soared with wild hope, and he immediately decided to hide there until the coast was clear. Kurt dabbed a hairy finger in his own wounds, smearing the blood on a patch of flowers, so as to mislead his pursuers.

With all the stealth and grace of a moonlit shadow, Kurt vanished through an open window.

_Meanwhile..._

Catherine Hernandez shifted the large basket of vegetables on her arm into a more comfortable position as she wound her way back home, and the spring in her step hinted that her usual cheery attitude had not abandoned her.

Catherine was an unusual woman in several ways. At eighteen years of age, she was strong-willed and determined, friendly toward all but submissive to none, and, unlike many of her peers, she was outspoken and passionate in her beliefs, voicing her opinions to both other women and men alike. Even more unusual was the fact that she was not yet married, and whatever suitors had presented themselves had been turned away. Though she could certainly be considered attractive, Catherine thoroughly enjoyed being independent. The thought of turning control of her life over to a man held no appeal to her.

It was true, though; Catherine _was_ very much self-sufficient. At an early age she had shown remarkable skill in weaving and sewing, and she was now the proprietor of a well-known and well-frequented clothing shoppe. Her skills with needle and thread were widely acknowledged as second to none, and even some of the area's most powerful noble families had sent in orders a time or two. Commoners and Duchesses alike frequented her establishment, and Catherine had yet to disappoint them.

The young woman's brown eyes widened in shock as the vicious men of the Inquisition thundered past. One of the horsemen barely avoided trampling her, and Catherine glared up at him as she got back on her feet.

"I would thank you to watch where your horse is going, Senor_."_

The man touched the brim of his metal helmet in apology. "I am sorry, senorita, but nonetheless I would advise you to stay inside tonight. _El Diablo _has been spotted in this very town, and I shudder to think of what would befall you should you encounter him."

"_El Diablo_? Are you sure?" Catherine was stunned. She had heard stories bandied about around town, tales of an unholy creature wandering through the Spanish countryside, but Catherine had dismissed such rumors as little more than a product of one tankard too many.

"_Si,_" The soldier replied gravely. "It has fled into the countryside, and we must destroy it before it harms anyone else." And with that, the Spaniard turned his steed around and galloped down the way after his fellows.

"_El Diablo?"_ Catherine muttered to herself. "Truly these are dangerous times, if the servants of Satan are abroad." She paused a moment to clutch the silver cross that hung around her neck. " I don't think I will sleep well tonight, knowing that such a creature could be lurking outside my window. I hope the Lord will protect me from its evil."

Catherine hurried the rest of the way home, to the modest building that served as her domicile and place of business. The size of her home was evident that her shop had done well: while it was far from a two-story villa, it was still much larger than the straw-thatched buildings her neighbors lived in. Catherine had even been able to put in real windows after a particularly good month of business.

The girl found herself comforted by the familiar sounds of the chickens and other small livestock she kept for her table. Her two sows, Maria and Gloria, lay sprawled in the mire of their pen, snorting blissfully amidst the muck. The chickens, too, seemed to have gone to bed, for only the occasional sleep cluck was heard from their coop. Even Benito, the cantankerous old rooster that helped produce fresh eggs and served as her alarm clock, was fast asleep. All was quiet.

In her eagerness to get inside and fill her belly, Catherine didn't even notice the blood that had been smeared on her flowerbed.

Once inside, the young woman groaned slightly as she set the obese vegetables on the table where she took her meals. After a moment's thought, Catherine decided that a meal of steamed peppers and spicy beef would be a nice selection for tonight's meal. The beef, fresh from Pedro the butcher, made a squelching sound as Catherine spitted it over the now-roaring fire. While she absently turned the spit with one slender hand, Catherine busied herself chopping the red and green peppers into chunks suitable for steaming. These went into an expensive metal frying pan that the blacksmith had given her for her birthday last year. Metal utensils were expensive, and Catherine had been enormously grateful for the gift.

_BUMP! Crash!_

Catherine's head snapped up, and panic threatened to consume her. Someone had broken into her house! Fear turned to fury as the indignity of having her home invaded dawned upon her, and Catherine clutched her vegetable knife tightly as she went to investigate the noise.

Meanwhile, Kurt Wagner swore silently and colorfully under his breath. He had knocked over a ceramic jar in his haste to vacate the house through a window that had been open for ventilation. The shards crunched under his furry toes as he fumbled and slipped in his hurry to flee, but in a spectacular instance of bad luck, he fell and hit his head on a wooden stool.

Stars exploded in Kurt's vision, and the combined effects of his injuries, exhaustion, and fear finally took their toll. The world began to swim, but a tiny gasp diverted Kurt's attention as unconsciousness began to claim his tired body.

His golden eyes widened in surprise and horror, for there was a young woman in the doorway.

And she was staring right at him.

Kurt felt a momentary, soul-searing despair before his mind went blank.

_I'm going to die…._

A/N: Hey, guys! I know it's been a while since I wrote "Laura's Journal", but this little plot bunny just refused to go away! Fear not, for the second chapter will be up very soon!

Your humble servant

-Quill N. Inque


	2. Chapter 2

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 2: A Stranger's Mercy

Catherine stared in horror at the…_thing_ that lay sprawled unconscious in the middle of her home. From its fearsome fangs, its warped hands and demonic tail, it was obvious to her that this was indeed the _El Diablo _that the horseman had warned her about.

Its golden eyes met her own for a heart-stopping minute, and then the catlike pupils rolled up into its head as it slumped in a daze.

The young woman stood for a moment, and debate raged within her as to what she was to do.

Catherine's first impulse was to alert the Inquisitors and have the demon expunged from her home. It certainly looked like the pictures of Satan's servants she'd seen in books and paintings. But even so, when it looked at her, it had seemed like it was merely giving up, resigned to the fate that the Inquisition had in store for it. Curiosity replaced fear, and Catherine decided that there would be no harm in merely having a look at it, since the demon was obviously either dead or unconscious.

With extreme caution, Catherine knelt until she was almost eye level with it. But her morbid fascination turned to horror as something wet and sticky soaked into the hem of her dress. Catherine held a candle to the stain, and a sob of horror escaped her lips.

It was a large puddle of very human-looking blood.

Catherine hesitated. "Surely demons do not bleed as men do," she murmured. "I wonder what could have laid such a creature low." With shaking fingers (she did NOT want to wake it up), Catherine gently turned the blue form onto its side.

But when the sight of Kurt's wounds greeted her, she wished she hadn't.

Catherine couldn't help being horrified at the grisly shafts. She was a country girl; war had not touched this region since the King and his men had driven out the Moors. And she had certainly never laid eyes on wounds like these.

Even though Catherine had been told that this creature served the Devil, her kind heart could not help but pity its wretched condition. "Father Pedro says that demons cannot be hurt by earthly weapons," she admitted to herself. "So why was this one wounded so easily? Why did he not disappear into thin air, as evil spirits do?"

A thought struck her. "Perhaps it is not a demon at all," Catherine mused. "I suppose it is possible that he was a terrible sinner, and the Lord saw fit to punish him by giving him such an appearance. I think I shall wait until he wakes up," she added. "Then I will know the truth."

With considerable effort, Catherine picked up the unconscious mutant and laid it down upon her bed, but she was careful to let it rest on its stomach to avoid provoking its wounds. That done, she headed into the kitchen to retrieve a jar of salt and a pint of holy water, the things that all Spaniards kept in their homes in case evil spirits came a-calling. According to popular legend, these ingredients would create a barrier around a possessed person until a priest could come to cleanse him. Catherine theorized that the same principle would apply here, in case this misshapen creature was indeed a servant of evil.

The salt created a white circle that stood in stark contrast to the dark floorboards, and the holy water dripped slowly as Catherine sprinkled it evenly. When the barrier was complete, she recited the Lord's Prayer, and went to get a pair pliers.

Catherine knew, from conversation with veterans of the Muslim Wars, that only tools such as these were capable of extracting a crossbow bolt from flesh and tissue. The girl pulled up a stool that the demon had apparently knocked over, and sat at the edge of the sheets with a grimace of distaste marring her normally attractive features.

Catherine was a gentle soul, after all. Such a kind and warm person should not have to perform grisly tasks like this.

The metal tool clamped snugly down upon one of the shining bolts, and Catherine struggled to keep from vomiting as she wiggled it this way and that, freeing it inch by inch from the creature's back. Though the extraction took only five minutes, it seemed like days.

The girl swallowed the bile that threatened to rush up her throat, and moved on to the next wound…

_Much later…_

The sun was beginning to rise as Catherine yawned sleepily to herself. With the demon in her bed, she had no place to sleep, and as such had spent the whole night waiting to see if the creature woke.

After all, one found it hard to sleep when a demon was a guest in one's home.

Catherine blinked blearily against the growing light. It was Sunday, she realized, but she was far too tired to attend morning Mass. _That is a serious sin,_ she thought absently. _I will have to mention it at my next Confession._

The sun's glorious light began to seep through the windows, and Catherine realized with a start that the creature would be caught in its rays. Everyone knew that unholy creatures could not abide the sun, and Catherine almost expected it to burst into flames when dawn's glow bathed its body.

Nothing happened, and Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. If the demon spontaneously combusted, it would surely burn her bed to ashes as well, and Catherine simply could not afford to buy a new one right now.

She sank wearily onto her stool once more, but relief turned to consternation as the demon opened its eyes.

_Kurt's POV_

Either God had decided to show mercy upon his wretched life, or He simply wasn't done playing with him yet. Kurt had long stopped believing in mercy after so many brushes with the Grim Reaper. So while he felt an odd sense of surprise to find himself still alive, he wasn't particularly optimistic about it.

Kurt half-wished that he HAD died from his wounds; such a death would only serve to end his suffering, and it would be far less painful than anything the Church had in mind.

Kurt opened his blue eyelids slowly, and when his vision focused, found himself staring at the woman from the night before. He tried to open his mouth, in an effort to say something, but his tongue was swollen from thirst and dehydration. A hoarse croak was all that issued from between his long fangs.

_Normal POV_

Catherine only just avoided panicking as the demon's eyes focused on her. They were golden, catlike pupils, the color of the trees in autumn, but Catherine didn't see any malevolence or sinister intent in their depths. There was only fear, uncertainty, and a quiet resignation to a horrible fate.

It opened its mouth, revealing a set of scary fangs, but only a sound vaguely reminiscent of a toad's call greeted her. Again, it tried to speak, and Catherine suddenly realized the problem.

Her hand strayed toward the crucifix around her neck. "Are you…thirsty?"

Kurt nodded, and finally found his voice. "Water," he rasped.

It certainly seemed like an innocent enough request, so Catherine held up a hand. "Wait here," she said, and in record time she returned with a tankard of the life-giving liquid. Her hands shook visibly as she held the drinking vessel to the demon's blue lips. It drank greedily, and Catherine took advantage of its distraction to study it a little.

He, she corrected herself. The creature, whatever it was, seemed to be male. That thought alone made her fearful, for it was known that demons liked to amuse themselves with young virgins. A shudder shook Catherine's slender frame, and she gasped in surprise as his blue, furry fingers touched her own in the process of handing the jug back to her.

It seemed to be fully awake now, and his eyes searched hers before he spoke coherently. His voice was laced with a hint of foreign accent. "Where am I? Who are you? Why am I not dead?"

Catherine considered each of his inquiries in turn. "You are in the countryside outside of Zaragoza. I am Catherine Hernandez, _senor_, and you are not dead because I have not summoned the Inquisition."

"Why?" His voice cracked slightly.

"Because, _senor_, there are several things about you that make me doubt your demonic nature."

Bitter amusement rippled across his face. "Such as?"

Catherine thought for a moment. "You bled quite a lot from your wounds, and no weapon of metal or wood can hurt a supernatural being. The sunlight did not immolate you, and if you were truly a demon, you would have disappeared when the Church came after you. So tell me then, what are you? Is this form a punishment from God?"

He laughed bitterly. "I've wondered about that more than once, Catherine. I never asked to be like this. For all I know, I was cursed with this appearance from the moment I was born."

"Did your parents conceive you out of wedlock? That could be a possible reason," Catherine's tone was serious, but she couldn't help blushing at the mention of such things.

"I wouldn't know," he replied. "I never knew my parents, and the priest that raised me was executed by the Inquisition when they were told of my existence. I've been on the run ever since." He paused here, and extended his unusual hand in the universal manner of greeting. "I'm Kurt, by the way. Kurt Wagner."

Catherine hesitated for a tangible second before slipping her hand in his. "A pleasure, _senor _Kurt. Are you hungry? You _do_ eat, don't you?"

Kurt's face contorted with hurt. "You still believe them. You still think I'm a demon, don't you?"

Guilt flashed unpleasantly through the young woman's body. "No, no, I just didn't know if your…_unique_ appearance required it. I am not sure what to think, Kurt, but I am no longer convinced that you mean me harm."

Kurt grinned, flashing those canines. "Do you have any chicken?"

A/N: That went, well, I think, considering what COULD have happened! XD Anyway, I just thought I'd get this chapter up before the school week starts. But don't fret, the next installment will be up either tomorrow or Tuesday!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	3. Chapter 3

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men Evolution.

Chapter 3: Tender Hearts

Kurt tried not to wince as Catherine dabbed the wounds left by the Inquisition's weapons. He still lay on his stomach, and Kurt's fangs bit into his blue lips as Catherine reached for a needle and thread.

The young mutant looked away. He didn't want to see what was going to happen next.

Catherine's voice was soft. "Lie still, _senor_ Kurt, or I will not be able to close your wounds." Though the girl maintained an air of comfort for Kurt's sake, her heart was hurting at mere thought of the task that lay ahead of her. Kurt's wounds, after all, would take months to heal if they were not stitched shut.

But all the same, the thought of causing her guest physical discomfort of any kind was abhorrent to Catherine.

Throughout the wee hours of the morning, she had tended to him with a kindness that would have made the Good Samaritan proud, feeding him warm chicken broth with a spoon when Kurt was too weak to eat unaided. And in between mouthfuls, he had told her many things: how a fanatical parishioner had tipped off the Inquisition to his existence, how the priest who'd raised him had sacrificed himself to give Kurt time to get away. Horror stories of how the Inquisition had hunted him like an animal and tales of the tricks Kurt had used to narrowly escape the Church's grasp.

In turn, Catherine told him of her life, as well. She had confided in Kurt the way she had never done with anyone else, told him things that she had never told another human being: of how her father was disappointed in her for not marrying and settling down, of how her suitors had gone away after seeing her strong, vibrant personality. Catherine had told Kurt that many men expected their wives to be submissive and obedient, of how women were expected to live out their days bearing children and doing housework.

"I do not wish to be bound to a man," Catherine had said. "No one wants a woman such as me for a wife."

Kurt had laughed at this, briefly, before doubling up in a spasm of pain. "I think that those men are both blind and foolish," he'd said, and Catherine had turned away so he would not see her blush.

She honestly didn't know why she had opened herself up to the strange young man that had appeared in her home. There was..._something_ about Kurt that made Catherine comfortable and at ease when she was around him. What that something was she had no idea, but it was as tangible and noticeable as the floorboards beneath her feet.

In just a few hours, Catherine had become ashamed of herself for even thinking of turning a kind person like Kurt over to the Inquisition, and she felt disgusted that she'd let the Church's propaganda cloud her senses. How could anyone want to hurt someone as sweet as Kurt? Why couldn't those fools in the Vatican see what Catherine saw in him? The young woman shook her head as she poised the needle over Kurt's torn flesh. _Truly, it is an unjust world we live in, if a pure heart like Kurt can be condemned purely by his appearance_. Aloud, Catherine addressed Kurt in what she hoped to be a soothing tone of voice. "Do not worry, Kurt," she said. "I will try not to take any longer than necessary."

The needle and thread plunged into Kurt's back, and tears squeezed from his golden eyes as Catherine began to work.

_Later…_

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief as she finished her bloody work, wiping off the needle and placing it in a clean basin of water. Kurt, meanwhile, twitched spasmodically on his bed, his back and arms afire with pain after such an excruciating procedure. The pillow on which his head lay was damp with agonized tears, and when he spoke, Kurt's voice was raspy from smothered screams.

"Are…you…done?"

"_Si,_" Catherine replied as she handed him a cup of wine. The alcohol, Catherine reasoned, would dull Kurt's senses and thus reduce his pain. But she only gave her friend enough to give him a mild buzz; there was no telling what Kurt might do when he was intoxicated.

His yellow eyes dulled, but there was still work to be done. Catherine put an arm around his furry shoulder and helped Kurt to sit upright. "I need only to bandage your wounds, Kurt," Catherine murmured as she fished a roll of linen bandages from underneath the bed. "It should not hurt very much."

Kurt groaned as he straightened his sore back, which was still very sensitive. "Can we eat afterwards?" he asked, his voice stronger now.

"Of course," Catherine said absentmindedly. She made a mental note to nab one of the chickens for a late lunch one she was done.

A sudden, unforeseen complication dawned on Kurt's guardian angel, and her face turned a fiery crimson as its implications sank in. For a moment, Catherine wrestled with her tongue, and when she finally found her voice, she was obviously embarrassed.

"I need you to remove your tunic, Kurt. Otherwise I cannot mend your hurts properly."

For his part, Kurt was a complete gentleman about it all, and he nodded thankfully at her as he laboredly pulled the tattered cloth over his shoulders. "Of course, Catherine," he said. "But let me ask you one thing."

"And what is that?" Catherine replied.

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

Kurt gestured about him with his malformed hand. "Why are you doing all this for me? You don't know me; I am a stranger in this land. And you must know what will happen if the Inquisition finds out that you helped me. I…I don't understand," he finished lamely. "It's just…no one ever tried to help me before, so I guess I'm having a hard time believing all this."

Catherine hesitated for a barely perceptible second. In point of fact, she had never stopped to consider the fate that would befall her if the Inquisition caught Kurt in her home. She had merely acted as her conscience dictated, but the thought of the Inquisition's punishments sent chills down Catherine's spine. "It merely seemed like the right thing to do," she replied finally as she unrolled the bandages in her deft fingers. As Catherine did so, she clambered up onto the bed beside him, but her eyes were not completely focused on Kurt's injuries.

Her new friend, it seemed, was very muscular and fit under that layer of fur. There didn't seem to be an ounce of fat on Kurt's body, and Catherine found herself gazing at his hard abs.

Then her senses returned, and Catherine mentally scolded herself as her face turned the color of a tomato. _It is not proper for an unmarried woman to have such impure thoughts!_

With a hurriedness borne of embarrassment, Catherine forced herself to concentrate on her task. But as she glanced closer, Catherine was taken aback, for there were spots on Kurt's body where the fur would not grow, lines of pale, blue…

The young woman forced down a horrified gasp as the truth hit her like a thunderbolt.

Scars.

Kurt's entire body was covered with scars.

Tears threatened to leak out of the corners of Catherine's eyes, and her heart wrenched violently with pity for her newfound friend. _How could someone do a thing like this? Why must Kurt suffer for who he is?_

Slowly, gently, Catherine wrapped Kurt's injured arm and back, and she took extreme care not to bind them too tight. Time and again, she found herself distracted by Kurt's appealing build, but in the end, Catherine was able to finish.

A sudden movement caught her eye, and she slapped the back of Kurt's hand when he tried to scratch at his bandages. "Don't do that," she said, sounding for all the world like a mother scolding an uncooperative child. "You could reopen the wounds if you scratch."

"It _itches_," Kurt replied huffily, but Catherine's eyes danced in amusement.

"You did not utter a word when I stitched you shut," she said teasingly. "And yet you complain about itching bandages?"

Kurt glared at her, but there was no anger in it. "You certainly do not lack wit, Kitty."

Catherine turned her head at that. "Kitty?"

In keeping with his sweet nature, Kurt immediately apologized. "I'm sorry," he said. "It is merely a term that I think suits you. You have many of the cat's qualities."

"Oh?" Catherine was amused. "And what qualities are they?"

Kurt thought for a second. "You are very kind and caring, Catherine, but you are also strong in will and spirit. It is the same with cats, you know: they are affectionate to their humans, but they are independent and make their own decisions. Cats do not submit to their owners as dogs do, just as you will not submit to a man's authority."

"Kitty, hmm?" the young woman looked pensive. "I rather like that nickname. It has a certain…appeal to it, I suppose."

"Well then, _Kitty,_" Kurt said with a smile. "What about this dinner you promised me?"

"I did promise, didn't I?" Kitty said warmly.

"Yes, you did," Kurt replied with mock severity. "And I do hope your cooking skills are satisfactory."

She laughed aloud, and Kitty's voice carried as she headed into the kitchen.

"I do not think you will be disappointed, Kurt."

A/N: Hey, guys! I thought it was about time for an update, and I hope this chapter was enjoyable for you all! Don't expect another update tomorrow, though, 'cause I'm gonna be REALLY busy, due to the annoying interruption of the educational system . In any case, the next installment WILL be up by Friday, so don't worry too much!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	4. Chapter 4

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 4: Storm on the Horizon

_Vatican City, Rome, 1573_

Two pairs of footsteps echoed eerily in the vastness of St. Peter's Basilica. Its soaring arches and towering spires reached for the sky, and frescoes of archangels and Biblical tales decorated its lavish walls. The Basilica was illuminated by the light of a thousand candles, and the atmosphere of the famous cathedral was one of ancient history and holy piety.

A pity, then, that the peacefulness was disturbed by the two men who plotted and schemed beneath the Basilica's hallowed dome.

One was outfitted in a metal helmet and shining cuirass, and the wickedly pointed rapier clanked at his side in time with his footfalls. In keeping with the styles of the time, the soldier wore a poufy-sleeved shirt and breeches, and his dark eyes were burning with a frightening mixture of avarice, ambition, and fanaticism. He was massive, over six feet tall and all muscle, and a thin pencil moustache was perched above his fat lips. The man's nose was missing a conspicuous piece, and a long, ropy scar ran down the left side of his face from ear to chin. These menacing features made him very unnerving.

But when one noticed that the soldier wore the emblem of the Inquisition on his breastplate, he became downright terrifying.

The man's name was Captain Pedro Sanchez, and he was charged by the Inquisition to root out heretics in the far-flung realms of the Church's domain. Sanchez was widely feared for his cruelty and malice to all those he captured: men, women, and even children had been dragged from their homes by the hundreds to torture or execution at his blood-stained hands. For his part, the Captain felt no remorse for his legions of victims. In his mind, heretics and nonbelievers, no matter their age or sex, deserved to die. End of discussion. This religious zealotry, coupled with Pedro's absentee conscience, made him very good at his job. So good, in fact, that the Church often turned a blind eye to his brutal excesses.

The man walking next to Sanchez was no better, despite the fact that he was garbed in a Cardinal's robes. He was short, and wiry, and his quick, darting eyes gave him a shifty countenance. A long, narrow nose jutted from his face like a bird's beak, his mouth was permanently turned down in a perpetual grimace, and his many layers of scowling wrinkles made him look as if he had drunk a glass of spoiled milk. All in all, this Cardinal bore a striking resemblance to a vulture, but the carrion bird happened to be much more noble than he. Vittorio was his given name, and he was almost universally disliked by his peers. Cold, hypercritical, foul-tempered and utterly self-serving, Vittorio was someone who wouldn't hesitate to stab you in the back if he thought he could benefit from it.

It shouldn't have been surprising, therefore, that two men such as these had agreed to work together to further their nefarious ends. One of these ends was increasing support for the Inquisition by apprehending a so-called "demon" that was rumored to be somewhere in Spain. The very thought of it made Sanchez nauseous. How DARE that eldritch creature invade one of the greatest nations in Christendom? How DARE he soil the land of his home with his unholy presence? Only that morning, Sanchez had flown into a killing rage when a dispatch had arrived detailing the failure of his troops to apprehend the beast.

This was not an exaggeration. The Captain had quite literally shot the messenger.

The Cardinal's reedy voice brought his twisted mind back to reality. "I am disappointed in you, Captain," Vittorio said. "You have never failed the Church before, and yet you are outsmarted by an agent of Lucifer."

"It is not that simple," Sanchez said through gritted teeth. "This demon appears to be quite crafty. It is not the first time he has escaped my men, but it WILL be the last. I will journey to Spain myself on the morrow so we can finally expunge the demon's foulness from the land."

"See that you do," Vittorio replied. "Support for the Inquisition is waning, Captain, due in large part to your over-exuberance in carrying out your duties. We need to sway the people's opinion, and the best way to do that is to apprehend the demon and kill it."

"Those heretics got what they deserved," Sanchez noted without a trace of remorse. "Just as the demon will. Even if it escaped, it won't remain hidden for long; The Church is spread far and wide, and sooner or later, someone will lead us to it."

"And when it IS caught," the Cardinal said gleefully. "I will be a shoo-in for the papacy!" _And His Holiness might fall victim to a series of tragic accidents,_ Vittorio finished silently.

"Your ambition does not concern me," Sanchez told him coldly. "I just want the pleasure of seeing that foul creature burn."

"Then we are on the same side," Vittorio whispered.

"Yes," Sanchez agreed. _For now…_

_Kitty's house, Zaragoza, Spain._

Kurt couldn't conceal his delight as he tore into the meat of a juicy chicken leg. He ate with a voracity that would have made a piranha proud, and a small mountain of bones and used plates surrounded his end of the table. Kitty was momentarily taken aback at his noticeable lack of table manners, but then she reminded herself that it had probably been a while since Kurt's last decent meal.

"I am glad you find my cooking enjoyable, Kurt," she said, failing to hide her amusement.

"Kitty, if every cook in the world were like you, no one would ever go hungry," Kurt replied cheerfully as he discarded the now-barren drumstick.

"Would you like more?" Kitty asked for what seemed like the millionth time. Normally she would have grown exasperated with so much cooking for a single guest, but the simple pleasure of Kurt's company was, in Kitty's opinion, more than worth the trouble.

"No," Kurt said, patting his now-swollen belly. "I couldn't eat another bite."

His friend secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Kitty was starting to run out of chickens.

"Do you need help with the dishes?" Kurt asked suddenly, twitching is tail. "I know I've made quite a mess, but I'm more than willing to lend a hand."

Kitty stared at the extra appendage, which twitched as if it had a mind of its own. "Your tail…"

"Yep," Kurt answered the unspoken question. "I can use it to grab and hold things. And it's come in handy more than once, let me tell you."

Kitty glanced at the mess of dirty plates. "Some help would be much appreciated," she admitted. "There is a bucket of water by the stove we can use."

Kurt gathered up the remnants of his meal. "And the scraps?"

"You can give those to the pigs," Kitty said. "You'll find them outside in a large pen."

Her friend left without another word, and he used his tail to close the doorknob behind him.

Kitty shook her head at the sight. "Amazing," she muttered with a smile.

Kurt returned from his errand with a speed that seemed almost unnatural. Then again, Kitty admitted to herself, _everything _about Kurt was unnatural. Her dress rumpled around her ankles as Kitty took a seat by the bucket of lukewarm water, and Kurt handed her an exceptionally filthy platter.

"You wash, I'll dry?" he suggested.

Kitty nodded as she reached for a bar of homemade soap. "That seems agreeable."

The two friends soon fell into a rhythmic pattern, and the sudsy water slopped onto the floor as they set to their task with a will. And it was rather uneventful, until…

Kurt finished wiping yet another dish and set it down on the floor beside him, reaching out for another without even turning his head. Kitty, meanwhile, was absorbed in an epic battle with an extraordinarily stubborn grease stain, and she absentmindedly handed him another plate to dry.

It was inevitable, then, that they grabbed each others' hands instead of the plate.

Kitty froze, and the sight of Kurt's velvety fingers around her own made her feel lightheaded and quivery, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Kurt, too, found himself captivated by the feel of her slender hand in his own, and the two blushed with an embarrassment worthy of the soppiest romances.

Kurt's senses belatedly returned, and he disentangled himself with deep, but hidden, reluctance. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's all right," Kitty said as her face turned a lovely shade of vermillion. "I…um…wasn't paying attention…"

"Yeah…" Kurt finished awkwardly.

"Our task is almost finished," Kitty mentioned, desperate for a change of topic. "Will you need my bed again?"

"No, thank you," her friend replied kindly. "It was not fair for you to sleep on the floor last night, Kitty. I'm used to dozing in obscure places, so it's only right for me to give your bed back." Kurt's voice turned playful. "Besides, I fear that if I slept in it again, I would never want to leave."

"Then I will bid you a good night," Kitty said as she stood up, her eyes matching the warmth in his. "I am not expecting any visitors for a while," she added as she closed the door behind her. "You will be safe here, Kurt."

It's amazing just how wrong one person can be.

A/N: Uh, oh! I think there's trouble ahead for Kitty and Kurt! Will the vile Captain succeed in his mission? Will Kitty and Kurt ever admit their feelings to each other? And what diabolical plan is the Cardinal forming? Find out in coming chapters!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	5. Chapter 5

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 5: Disaster

The infamous Pedro Sanchez nodded in satisfaction as he watched his men disembark from the ship that had carried them from Italy to Spain. The vessel's massive size was a tribute to Sanchez's power, and its gundecks bristled with row upon row of cannon, while the symbol of the Inquisition flew from its topmast. From within the warship's bowels, Pedro's soldiers emerged: halberds, swords, and metal breastplates glinted menacingly in the afternoon sun, and their horses whinnied impatiently, as if even the animals were anxious for the demon's blood to be spilled.

The size of Pedro's command was not significant, maybe a hundred and fifty soldiers at most. But these were the finest soldiers in all of Christendom, and each man had been handpicked by Pedro himself for this holy assignment. They had even been outfitted with a brand new firearm, the wheel lock pistol, and given a generous supply of blessed musket balls. Pedro could hear his officers shouting out orders in fine military fashion as the Inquisitors formed into ranks, and a cold smile split his scarred face as Pedro rode his horse down the lines of armored men. The Captain he turned his steed around, and all fell quiet when their commander spoke.

"On this day," Pedro proclaimed, "we dedicate ourselves to the task of freeing this land from the clutches of Satan! We will not stop, we will not rest, and we will not quit until this demon is expunged from the earth FOREVER!" The soldiers roared their approval as the Captain continued. "We march today in the service of God and the Church, and no force of evil will contain our wrath!" The shouts grew even louder, and Pedro's horse reared up on its hind legs as he drew his rapier with a flourish. A banner, emblazoned with the image of the Virgin Mary, fluttered in the wind as it was raised high in the air.

Pedro's eyes glinted with inner madness as he pointed his blade toward the Spanish countryside.

"Now, soldiers: ONWARD TO VICTORY!"

_Kitty's house_

It had been over a week since Kurt and Kitty had made each other's acquaintance. Even though she had only known her friend for a short time, Kitty had difficulty imagining life before Kurt had taken refuge in her home. As the days passed, they had grown closer while Kurt's injuries mended, and it was now a tradition under Kitty's roof that she and her guest share dinner together. It was the one time of day that Kitty looked forward to the most, and the knowledge that Kurt was there to greet her after work helped make running her shop so much easier. Business had been good of late, since one of the neighboring nobles had decided to hold a ball to find suitors for his daughter, and it was of course practical that the heiress be attired for the occasion. It had been a tall order, Kitty admitted one night after hours spent sewing in her shop window. Kurt, as usual, had had nothing but support for her, and it was largely due to his encouragement that Kitty's sore, stiff fingers showed up for work the next morning.

When it was all said and done, the lord (Duke something or other, Kitty couldn't remember) had been so pleased with Kitty's work that he had paid her a handsome bonus on top of her usual fee.

Now, Kurt grinned over the rim of his spoon as he observed his friend's delighted expression. "Not bad for a day's work, Kitty."

"A week's work, more like," she replied solemnly, but her eyes were merry. "It seems these nobles are getting more and more extravagant every year."

"Of course they are," Kurt said casually as he blew steam off his bowl. "That's what nobles do, you know: they spend money on things they don't need, simply because they can."

"I do not doubt it," Kitty snickered. "But I fear my tired hands cannot take another order like that."

"Then take a day off," Kurt shrugged, smiling at her with those long fangs. Initially, Kitty had been unnerved by those teeth, but now she found them oddly comforting. "You work five days a week from sunup to sundown, Kitty. It won't hurt to take a breather, you know."

"But I have three new orders already," Kitty sighed. "I cannot afford to be idle."

"Those orders aren't due until three months from now," Kurt pointed out. "I hardly think one day will make much of a difference."

_Meanwhile…_

Pedro bounced slightly in his saddle as he urged his tired horse onward. He had pushed his men hard; from their landing point at the harbor of Barcelona, the army of the Inquisition had marched over a hundred miles inland at breakneck pace. So was their progress that it would put the legions of Caesar to shame. Now, as the small town of Zaragoza appeared above the trees, Pedro pulled his horse to a stop and rapped out commands to his me.

"Nunez, take half a score and scour the city. Ask anyone you come across for information about the demon or where it could be hiding. We must not let the trail go cold."

The soldier, Nunez, saluted smartly and galloped off with his squad close behind, but the Captain was not finished. There was much more to be done.

"We will pitch camp here," he stated loudly, so as not to be misheard. "But be ready to march at a moment's notice, men. If Nunez comes back with a hot tip, we will need to make haste."

_At the same time…._

The iron-shod hooves of the Inquisition's horses clopped loudly on the streets of Zaragoza, and commotion arose as word spread of the Church's presence in this sleepy hamlet. Nunez, dutiful to his orders, struggled to contain his frustration as he tried to pump a rather dimwitted blacksmith for any useful information. "So you confirm that the demon WAS here," the soldier said.

"Yeah," the smith dusted his hands on his equally filthy apron. "I think he got away, though. Fled into the countryside, way I heard it."

Nunez paused. He had already collected several reports from reliable witnesses that corroborated with the man's story. "Do you have any idea where it might be now?"

"Nope," the metalworker replied. "But if it's still around, the farmlands are your best bet."

Nunez and his scouts had already left before the man was finished talking.

_The Zaragoza countryside…_

Nunez was tired. He and his ten companions had spent the better part of the evening scouring wheat fields and vegetable patches, and the only human inhabitant they had come across so far had been a belligerent farmer who had objected to horses in his garden. The farmhouses the Inquisitors had passed had all been empty, and Nunez had no doubt that their occupants were out on the town, drinking themselves blind and committing other sinful acts. He sighed to himself as he crested a hilltop, and was just about to turn his men around when…

There. A light was on inside this person's home. Admittedly it was bigger than the single-room dwellings Nunez had seen so far, but whoever was inside might have a better idea of the demon's activities than the oblivious blacksmith. But before Nunez could announce himself, a young woman exited the house with a barrel of scraps for the hogs, and waiting in the doorway…

The Inquisitor couldn't contain his shock. The demon was standing in this woman's home, and now she turned and _smiled at it!_ That girl had allied herself with the Devil, had sheltered an unholy beast in her home, and Nunez's teeth clenched with anger. Very well, then. The woman had chosen a side, and now she would share her conspirator's fate.

The officer motioned to his men, and in only a trice the horsemen were gone, leaving not a trace to denote their presence.

_Kitty's house…_

Kurt arched a furry eyebrow as Kitty went about feeding her livestock. "Need some help?"

"No thank you, Kurt. I do not think it would be wise for you to step outside right now," his friend replied. "You could be spotted."

Kurt leaned against the open door, his tail swishing idly. "Is there anything those pigs won't eat?"

"If there is, I have yet to discover it," Kitty laughed, setting the empty bucket down. She sighed tiredly. "I think I will turn in early, Kurt," Kitty added. "I feel quite tired after working on that dress today."

"Go ahead," Kurt replied, motioning with his blue-fingered hand. "You certainly look tired."

"Do I?" Kitty's voice was full of mock anger.

Her friend put his hands up placatingly as she walked past him. "No, of course not," Kurt played along. "You look as if you just got out of bed."

She arched an eyebrow at him, and it took Kurt a moment to realize his error. "Oops," he grinned apologetically. "Sorry. That…didn't come out right."

Kitty laughed. Kurt was so cute when he thought he had offended her. "Good night, Kurt."

"Good night, Kitty."

The candlelight in her bedroom abruptly vanished, and on a hill not too far away, Pedro Sanchez gave the order, and his tone of voice was so casual it seemed as if he were merely discussing the weather.

"Kill them."

A torch arced through the air, and the expensive glass windows shattered as it vanished inside the domicile…

Kurt tried not to panic as the flames threatened to engulf him. The young mutant knew full well what had happened, but a part of him wanted to believe that this was all a horrendous dream, that Kurt would wake up any minute now and breathe a sigh of relief.

Any notions of that sort promptly vanished as a volley of musket fire shattered the containers and jars on the kitchen shelves. Kitty, aroused by the commotion, emerged half-asleep from her room.

"What is going on?" she asked groggily.

"We need to run," Kurt replied flatly. "The Inquisition has found us."

A/N: Oh, snap! What will happen to Kitty and Kurt now? Find out in the next chapter!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	6. Chapter 6

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter Six: Fugitives!

Kitty's drowsiness vanished instantly. "W-What?"

Kurt clenched his fist. "Go. Now. I'll try to hold them off as long as I can, but you need to get out of here."

"Never," his friend said quietly, her voice laced with steely resolve. "I will not abandon you, Kurt."

"Do you WANT to die?" Kurt asked harshly. "They're bound to know if you helped me, Kitty! They'll kill you, too!" His golden eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't care what happens to me, but I won't see you die just for my sake." A loud crashing sound signaled that yet another window had succumbed to the Inquisition's onslaught, and flames began to lick hungrily at the curtains.

"I could not live with myself if I did as you asked, Kurt," Kitty replied. "Twice I say and done: I will NOT leave you."

_Bam._

The wooden door to Kitty's house buckled under the impact of some kind of heavy object. Kurt drew in his breath softly. "They brought a battering ram," he murmured. "Any ideas, Kitty?"

"There is always the cellar."

"The what?" Kurt looked confused.

"I bought this house from a man who used to run a winery here," Kitty whispered. "When he moved out, he left an empty wine cellar beneath the house. I use it to store spare fabrics when I am not using them."

"Can we get there without anyone seeing us?" Kurt's voice was made rushed by urgency.

"I believe so," Kitty concurred, gesturing toward the back of the house. "That is assuming, of course, that the rear exit is not blocked by soldiers."

"We'll have to take that chance," Kurt said, nodding. "If the leader of these men is who I think it is, then he will be too caught up in his fanaticism to think his strategy through."

"And who is this mysterious man you know so well?" Kitty inquired as she opened the door ever so slightly.

The mutant's glittering eyes narrowed in anger as he followed her through the house, his pace quickened by the roar of the blaze. "Trust me, Kitty, you don't want to know. Pray that you will never meet him."

Her surprise at Kurt's cryptic response was muted when Kitty saw that the Inquisitors had indeed left a route of escape open to them. "You were right," she said gleefully. "This way!"

Kurt needed no further encouragement, but his flight to freedom was almost halted by a Spaniard who had just begun to empty his bladder in Kitty's roses. The man's head turned at the sound of the door creaking open, and he fumbled with his breeches as he reached for his sword. "Stop right the-"

BONK!

The Inquisitor's eyes rolled into his head, and Kitty threw away the shovel that she'd used to silence him. "I do not believe he will be giving us away," she stated matter-of-factly, "and perhaps this will teach him that my roses are NOT a chamber pot!"

Kurt took a minute to rob the unconscious man of his sword. "I've got a feeling we might need this later one," the mutant stated as he buckled the weapon around his waist. "Now come on!"

Before Kitty could stop him, Kurt's soft, velvety fingers wrapped around her own, and the two fugitives made a mad dash up a nearby hillside. A slight gasp escaped her, and Kitty was surprised to find that the touch of Kurt's hand was not entirely unpleasant, and small jolts of pleasant electricity flashed up the girl's arm as the two friends made good their escape.

The hill itself was a challenge. It was steep, angled, and covered with boulders the size of a man's fist. It had probably been the site of a quarry in days gone by, but now it only served to make Kitty's progress all the more exhausting. Kurt didn't seem to have any problems, and Kitty felt somewhat ashamed that she looked so weak in comparison to him. _Then again, it makes sense for him to have such endurance, seeing as how Kurt has been on the run for most of his life._

Kitty's breath was coming in gasps as she and her friend neared the crest of the hill (Privately, Kitty thought it would actually qualify as a small mountain), and the girl's exhaustion served only to distract her from the task of fleeing for her life.

A moment of terror made Kitty's chest constrict painfully, and in her panic, she lost her footing. The bones in Kitty's ankle cracked audibly, and the young woman couldn't help crying out in pain.

Kurt was at her side instantly. "What is it?"

Agonized tears squeezed from his friend's eyes. "My…ankle…" Kitty managed to say between gritted teeth.

Any self-consciousness Kurt would have normally possessed vanished with the urgency of the situation, and his strong, muscular arms scooped Kitty off the ground, bridal-style. "It's all right," Kurt tried to maintain a calm tone of voice, if only to reassure her. "Now let's put some distance between us and them."

Kitty took one last look at the inferno that had once been her home, uttering a strangled, despairing sob before passing out from her ordeal. Inwardly, guilt washed over Kurt in a nauseating wave. _This is all my fault…_

Moments later, the unfortunate mutant had vanished into the vastness of the forest, leaving not a trace to denote that he was ever there.

No trace, except for a single, solitary teardrop.

A/N: I know it's a short chapter, but I needed to get this out of the way while I had the chance, since I need to study for a Biology test on Friday . But I'll tell you right now, I'll be a PEPSI-DRINKER before I let such things interfere with this story!Anyway, I WILL have the next chapter up by Friday, come Hell or high water!

And Quill N. Inque always keeps his word…


	7. Chapter 7

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 7: On the Run

In many creatures, humans included, the possibility of death tends to sharpen our senses. The world becomes sharper and clearer as we look for an avenue of escape. Panic sends adrenaline coursing through our veins, lending us abnormal strength and stamina. We see and hear little details that could possibly aid us, details that would have normally gone unnoticed.

So it was with Kurt.

His warped toes were cut and bleeding as he leapt from boulder to boulder with the unconscious Kitty in his arms. The mutant didn't dare walk on the trail that lay in the woods before him, as his unique footprints would lead the Inquisition right to him. It was better, Kurt reasoned, to run on rocks or cross through streams whenever possible. Kurt was willing to try anything if it meant slowing the Spaniards down a bit.

The orange glow from the bottom of the hillside sent a pang of guilt stabbing through Kurt's heart. It was his fault that such ruin had befallen Kitty, his fault that her livelihood now lay burning to cinders, his fault that such a sweet girl now lay dazed in his furry hands, with nothing other than a broken ankle to show for his surprise visit some weeks back.

Kurt had no doubt that, if the Inquisition caught up with them, Kitty would share in his grisly fate at the hands of the Church. He'd seen it all before: the Inquisitors would ship the accused 'heretics' back to Rome in a prison cart, to be tortured and burned at the stake while the citizens jeered. The mere thought of his friend screaming as the fire engulfed her made Kurt sick to his stomach, and he gritted his long fangs in silent determination. No matter what, Kurt vowed, he would see to it that Kitty made it out of this mess alive.

Even if he didn't.

A soft moan distracted him momentarily, and Kurt's heart twisted with anguish as Kitty shifted slightly in his grasp, undoubtedly from the discomfort of her injury. Kurt's legs pumped like pistons as he ran gamely on, and he tried to be assuring as he whispered in her ear. "Don't worry. I'll protect you, Kitty."

_Meanwhile…._

Pedro Sanchez tried to control the anger that blossomed like fire in his gut. So close! The demon had been within his reach, only to slip away from the Church's justice yet again! The Spaniard's teeth ground audibly as his gauntleted hand clenched. It was merely a setback, yes, that's all it was. Tomorrow he would pick up the demon's trail, and the girl….

Unbridled fury made Pedro's entire body shake. He would have some special punishments in store for the woman who'd allied herself with evil, the traitorous heretic who had forsaken God and the Church through the Devil's temptation! Catherine Hernandez would beg for death by the time the Inquisition was done with her, and the last thing she saw would be the demon's charred corpse bound to a stake!

"Captain!" the familiar voice of Nunez snapped Pedro out of his deranged daydreams.

"What is it?" he asked curtly as the other man saluted. "We need to move out before the trail grows cold!"

"I already have scouts working on it," Nunez replied smartly.

Pedro glared down at him, and his eyes reflected the rage he was feeling. "Working on it? _Working on it?_ The demon escaped because of YOUR incompetence!" In actuality, Nunez was not to blame, but Pedro needed a scapegoat to vent his rage upon. "Idiot!" The captain continued scathingly. "You were so busy burning and plundering the house that you failed to guard the rear exit! THAT is where the demon made his escape, and had you guarded it properly, the beast would be DEAD BY NOW!" Pedro's voice rose to a thunderous roar, and his eyelid twitched rapidly "FOOL! KNAVE! IDLING BUNGLER! IT IS _YOUR _FAULT THAT SPAIN IS STILL PLAGUED BY THE DEVIL!"

Nunez's voice took on a dithering tremble as he tried to appease his unstable Captain. "Sir…I am sorry…Give me just one more chance…"

Pedro's voice softened, and he nodded understandingly. "Another chance, hmm?"

"Yes, Captain."

Sanchez's double-edged rapier made a noise like an angry wasp, and blood spattered the grass as the insane Inquisitor decapitated Nunez in one devastating blow. Even Pedro's most hardened soldiers gave a simultaneous moan as the lifeless body of their comrade lay in a pool of crimson.

"Let that be a lesson to the rest of you," Pedro continued in a dangerously calm voice, wiping his blade callously on Nunez's body. "Failure will not be tolerated…"

_Deep in the Zaragoza forest…_

Kitty groaned softly as consciousness returned to her. The broken ankle she had acquired earlier pained her abominably, and Kitty was momentarily startled by such unfamiliar surroundings. Then the memory of what had happened hit her like a thunderbolt, and she was unable to restrain a small, angry sob.

Kitty remembered it all clearly. The Inquisition had tracked down Kurt somehow. The successful shop she had worked so hard to establish now lay in ruins along with her home, her fields, and probably even her livestock. Tears of sadness made Kitty's eyes sparkle in the darkness of night, and it was only with Herculean effort that she did not break down completely.

That was another thing. Kurt had not built a fire, and if there was anything to eat, Kitty would not be able to see it until her eyes adjusted. It made sense, though. A fire could be seen from very far away on clear nights like this, and there was no sense in risking capture for the sake of a hot meal.

The thought of capture made the color drain from Kitty's face. She'd heard horror stories of the Inquisition's methods, tales of cruelty and barbarity that would make even the Moors tremble with terror. Until recently, though, Kitty had never believed those rumors, for surely the Church was not capable of such things.

Kurt's arrival had changed all that. He had suffered the most heinous tortures the Inquisition could come up with, and he had the scars to prove it. Kitty had seen old soldiers, hardened veterans of King's wars, die from lesser injuries than those her friend had received. And if wounds like that could lay even the mightiest warrior low, a young woman like Kitty wouldn't last a nanosecond in the Inquisition's dungeons.

Leaves crunched behind her, and Kitty's whole body was momentarily suffused with terror. But her fright died as quickly as it rose, for the noise was only Kurt returning from…wherever it was he had been.

He certainly looked the worse for wear, Kitty thought. Kurt's face was haggard and drawn with exhaustion. For a moment, it appeared as if he were going to sit with her, to watch over her, but Kitty was bitterly disappointed when he took a seat several feet away, facing away from her as if ashamed.

With considerable effort, Kitty half-crawled, half-dragged herself over to him, extending a hand intended to reassure him.

Kurt twitched away from her. "Don't," he said simply. "I…I did all of this…"

"What?" Kitty couldn't help sounding puzzled.

Her friend's voice shook. "I am responsible for what has befallen you," Kurt whispered mournfully. "You cared for me and looked after me when no one else would, and in return I brought the wrath of the Church down upon you. Your house, your life…It's all gone because of me. If I hadn't crawled into your bedroom that night, if I had just let them have me, none of this would have happened." Tears of sadness and despair trailed down Kurt's blue, furry cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry, Kitty…I can't even look you in the face…"

"Do not be ashamed, Kurt." Kitty's tone was laden with extreme gentleness.

"W-What?"

Five slender fingers gripped his shoulder firmly. "I know what the consequences could be," Kitty said quietly, "and I would willingly face them if it meant doing the right thing. Do not blame yourself for what has happened. I am not angry with you," she enunciated slowly. "And in my opinion, meeting you was worth going through all of this, for better or worse."

The hope in Kurt's golden eyes was almost tangible. "Really?" he whispered.

Kitty nodded. "Really."

His normal, cheery demeanor returned instantly. "Great! Now I'll need you to hold still, because I picked some herbs to dress your ankle. It won't heal instantly, but it should deaden the pain a bit." Without further ado, Kurt gently lifted Kitty's injured foot of the ground, propping it in his lap so he could work with both hands. It was fortunate that the twilight hid the blush that made his face even bluer than usual.

For her part, Kitty barely kept from gasping at the touch of his hands. They were so soft, like fine velvet gloves, and arcs of pleasant electricity coursed through her entire body. For his part, Kurt had valiantly kept his mind on mending Kitty's hurts, rather than on the fact that he was touching a fairly personal part of the girl's person. In short, the awkwardness of the whole situation was not lost upon either of them.

Kitty gasped in surprise when Kurt finished his ministrations. "It hardly even hurts at all! How did you do that?"

Kurt grinned ruefully. "I've had a lot of practice, Kitty. When you have to escape with a musket ball in your leg, you quickly learn what works and what doesn't."

"Thank you," Kitty said sincerely.

"It was the least I could do," her friend replied. "After all you've been through for my sake, it would take a lifetime to repay your kindness."

Kitty blushed furiously. "You are merely flattering me."

"No," Kurt said as he reached for a rather obscure-looking plant, "I am telling the truth."

A/N: Hi guys! Here's another chapter for you, just like I promised! I hope you all have been enjoying the story so far. ^^ Please, please, please review! I didn't get ANY reviews for the last chapter, and the readers' feedback is what an author lives on. So if YOU have any ideas, advice, or constructive criticism, LET ME KNOW! I take the readers' suggestions very seriously, and I would LOVE to hear your ideas on how I can make this story even better! :D

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. Just wanted to let you guys know that this is the first of THREE different historical KURTTY fics I'm planning to write, each with set in a different era of history, each with its own plot!

Thought you might like to know…. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 8: Stealing to Survive

_(A/N: The opening of this chapter is a lot cooler if you listen to the theme from the "Van Helsing" movie while you're reading it!)_

It was a clear night.

The stars shone down from the heavens and twinkled like tiny diamonds against the black velvet sky, and the moon's soft, dim light bathed the land in its eerie glow, and one could make out the silhouetted forms of two fugitives as they continued their flight.

The thunderous pounding of hooves beat a frenzied tattoo against the dusty ground, and the whinny of horses was clearly audible as Kitty and Kurt spurred their steeds to greater efforts. The horses, by the way, had been "borrowed" from a nearby breeder, who probably wouldn't notice their absence until dawn. Kitty had been reluctant to resort to stealing, but it was common knowledge that Spanish horses could outrun anyone, even the feared forces of the Inquisition. And, Kurt had pointed out, a stolen horse and a guilty conscience were preferable to whatever grisly demise the Church had in store for them.

Thus it was that Kitty and Kurt continued to flee Sanchez's wrath, traveling south in the hope of crossing the Portuguese border into France. Kurt's midnight-black stallion tossed its head and neighed loudly, and Kitty had to strain to keep pace with him. Her hood and cloak, stolen in passing from a clothesline, billowed out behind her, and her still-injured ankle twinged every time the saddle bounced. The countryside sped by her in a green blur, and her horse snorted with exertion as it galloped faster, ever faster, through the silent forest.

Kurt glanced at her. "How is your ankle, Kitty?"

"It hurts," she admitted, "but it should be fine soon."

Kurt fixed his golden eyes ahead. "Dawn is only a few hours away. We can rest once the sun rises."

Kitty nodded. Her friend had insisted on traveling only at night, as there were fewer people awake in the twilight hours, and thus fewer people who could point the Inquisition in the right direction. It had, she reflected, worked very well so far; there had been no sign of Sanchez or his men since the night they'd razed her house.

A pang of anger and sorrow shot through Kitty's chest like an arrow, but she banished it just as quickly. That life was closed to her now, and there was no changing the past. For better or worse, she and Kurt were in this together.

A loud rumble caused Kurt to glance around in alarm, and Kitty blushed with embarrassment.

"Are you hungry?" Kurt's voice was full of concern.

"Yes," Kitty said, knowing there was no point in denying it. "I could manage something to eat."

"I will ride ahead and acquire something," Kurt promised her, and his horse galloped ahead at an impossible speed.

Kitty felt a little uncomfortable. She knew full well what Kurt meant, and it made her somewhat conflicted. He was going to steal something edible, perhaps a loaf of bread off a windowsill, or grapes from a vineyard. Kitty had never stolen before in her life. She had never needed to, with a successful sewing business that kept her purse full. But now her shop lay in ruins, and Kitty didn't have a single coin to her name.

She didn't want to starve, but at the same time, her conscience nagged at her for what she and Kurt were doing. Although, in fairness to Kurt, he only stole from people who could afford it, the nobles and merchants who kept their summer homes in these parts. Even Kurt would not steal from a housewife with three children to feed, and for that Kitty was enormously grateful.

With nothing else to do, she slowed her horse to a trot. Kurt would find her when his questionable errand was finished. He always did, though Kitty had no idea how.

_Farther up ahead…_

Kurt left his horse tied up behind a large tree, and his senses were on high alert as he surveyed the wealthy villa before him. Everything about it spoke of its owner's affluence: the fancy colonnade that supported its tiled roof, the cherubs that spewed water into the large fountain, and the marble pathway that led to an elaborate set of double doors. He had done this many times before, too many times to count; with all the stealth and grace of a panther he slipped past the sleeping guard dog and behind the walls that encircled the estate. Kurt allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction. These walls were more for decoration that protection, for they were barely tall than Kurt himself. A hefty jump vaulted him over the bricks, and his furry feet didn't make a sound as they made contact with the soft grass.

Kurt immediately took shelter behind a large, conical shaped garden tree, his twitching tail the only hint of the adrenaline and anxiety that flowed through his veins. A quick peek around the tree's branches, and Kurt assured himself that the obscenely oversized garden was indeed abandoned. He stepped out onto the path-

-And immediately ducked back behind the tree as two men exited the villa, through a small door to the right. Kurt silently kicked himself. He should have noticed that!

The Spaniards were obviously deep in conversation, wealthy by the look of their clothes, and Kurt could catch snatches of their talk as they strolled aimlessly about.

"Well, I for one won't be letting my children out at night, with that foul creature out and about!" the first man, fat and crimson-faced, declared. "Do you know he was spotted only recently in Zaragoza?"

The second nobleman, skinny and horse-faced, balked at this. "Surely you jest, Alfonse! I have a cousin who lives near there!"

"I am dead serious, Hernando," Alfonse replied. "And it seems one of the townsfolk there has been swayed to his evil."

"Who?" Hernando's jaw dropped. "I have been to Zaragoza several times on business. They are all good Christians there!"

"Catherine Pryde," Alfonse answered. "The seamstress."

"It cannot be!" Hernando exclaimed. "Why, I placed an order just last week with her! And she comes from such a good family, too…"

"Yes, her father saw combat against the Moors," Alfonse said sadly. "And her mother is a good and faithful wife. I even met the girl a few years ago, you know. Her father and I are old friends, and he invited me to dine with his family while I was in town. She was so cheerful and bright, Hernando. I find it inconceivable that such a sweet young woman can be swayed by the Devil."

"And what has her father done about all this?"

"Would you believe the old man sent me a letter just a few days past? The poor soul's heartbroken."

Hernando scowled. "He has not disowned her?"

"No," Alfonse sighed. "Though his pain is great, he is incapable of renouncing his own daughter, despite what has become of her…"

The sounds of speech grew fainter as the two men walked deeper into the garden, and Kurt breathed a sigh of relief and shame. Relief, that he had not been discovered.

Shame, that he had unknowingly brought such grief to Kitty's loved ones.

Kurt cleared his head. There would be time to feel guilty later. Right now, his main objective was the acquisition of tonight's meal…

_Meanwhile…_

Kitty tried hard to concentrate on something other than her ravenous hunger. Nothing worked, and her belly growled like an angry thunderstorm in its pleas for nourishment. She actually felt somewhat ashamed, for Kurt had likely been on the brink of starvation more than once in his travels! He seemed able to run on very little in the way of food, while she, a sheltered country girl, felt starving only a few hours after her last meal!

It made Kitty feel weak, and the thought drove her crazy.

Something snapped in the bushes, and Kitty instinctively whistled for her horse, but panic turned to unabashed relief as Kurt stepped out of the darkness, a large sack nestled over his shoulder.

"Is all of that food?" Kitty asked, trying hard to keep the hope from her voice.

"No," Kurt shook his furry head, a grim smile on his face. "I brought enough food to last us until tomorrow."

"Then why is that sack so full?" Kitty was confused.

In answer, Kurt upended the burlap bag, and Kitty felt horror suffuse her body.

Several loaves of bread, some flasks of wine, and a canteen of water lay strewn upon the ground, along with-

-Weapons.

Lots and lots of weapons.

"What are those for?" Kitty whispered.

Kurt's tone was determined. "We weren't prepared when Sanchez torched your home and tried to kill me. We had nothing to defend ourselves with. But I'd sooner burn at the stake myself than let the Inquisition catch us napping again. If that happens…" Kurt's voice broke. He didn't even want to think what horrific treatment his friend would suffer at the hands of the sadistic Captain Sanchez.

Kitty cast a curious eye over the mound of steel. There was a basket-hilted sword with a broadly curved blade, and a second sword, too, but different than the first: this weapon had a shining, double-edged blade, and forward- and backward-curving quillons served to protect the hand. The sword's handle was made of ivory, and it was apparent that it was Islamic in origin, obviously a trophy taken from the battlefield. There were also several types of daggers, and an assortment of pistols of varying sizes. Kurt claimed the other sword for himself, buckling it around his waist with an almost unnatural ease.

"Teach me."

Kurt turned to face her, and the scabbard bounced slightly against his hip. "What?"

"Teach me how to fight," Kitty said. "If the worst happens, I do not intend to let the Inquisitors capture me without a fight. And I do not want you to shoulder all of this by yourself," she added, remembering the wounds Kurt had sustained that first fateful night. "I want to learn."

Kurt grinned, and his fangs glittered in the moonlight. "Okay," he said. "Then your lesson starts now…"

A/N: Hey guys! I'm back, and I apologize for not updating sooner, but my grandparents came to visit me over the weekend and I wanted to spend some time with them. ^^ Anyway, I thank you all for your patience, and I'll try to have the next chapter up soon! And for those of you who haven't been in the loop, I am proud to say that this is the first of THREE historical KURTTY fics that I am planning to write, each set in a different time and place! So don't be discouraged when this story has come to a close, because there are other tales that have yet to be told! Finally, as always, PLEASE REVIEW! I would welcome any and all constructive criticism or ideas on how I can make this story better, so if YOU have any suggestions, I would LOVE to hear them!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	9. Chapter 9

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 9: Sword and Pistol 101

_Somewhere…._

A riding column of grim-faced, armored men sent crows squawking skyward as they made their way through the wilderness of Spain's interior. Their mounts were unsuited to such terrain, for such large warhorses were bred for combat in the open fields and plains, rather than the cramped, perilous confines of the forest. Predictably, this slowed their advance to a crawl.

Then, with abrupt suddenness, the slow-moving cavalcade of swords and steel came to an unexpected halt. The lead horse, a magnificent black stallion, whinnied and snorted loudly as its rider dismounted.

A mail-clad hand brushed lightly over the peculiar two-toed fingerprint that had been left in the dirt. It was not fresh, probably days old, but it served to confirm that the men were indeed headed in the right direction.

Pedro Sanchez stood slowly, and a sick smile spread across his face.

"They went this way…"

_Meanwhile…_

Catherine Hernandez hesitantly gripped the rounded handle of a rather finely engraved flintlock pistol. It was an elaborate piece, functional but fashionable: its hammer was shaped like a lion's head, and a tight screw held a sharp piece of flint in place between the lion's jaws. The hard, dark brown wood was inlaid with swirls of gold filigree, and the butt of the pistol was covered with a bronze cap, which could double as a skull-splitting club once the firearm had spent its ammunition. Though the weapon was beautiful, it still had a single purpose: to kill. And this made Kitty very uneasy.

She had, of course, asked Kurt to teach her how to defend herself in case the Inquisition caught up with them. But even so, Kitty was by nature a gentle soul, and the thought of killing anyone, even an enemy was abhorrent to her.

Kurt had no such qualms about taking an Inquisitor's life, and his voice snapped Kitty out of her thoughts like a pail of cold water.

"This is a powder cartridge," Kurt stated matter-of-factly, holding up a small paper cylinder. "It contains powder and ball for one shot, which is all you get from one of these." He waved a pistol of his own for emphasis. "Make sure you use it wisely."

"And what if I miss?" Kitty couldn't help asking.

Kurt gestured to the pile of weaponry beside him. "That's why I brought spares. Now, to prepare for firing, you have to move the pistol's hammer to the half-cocked position. See it, there? Pull it backward."

The gilded metal clicked loudly as Kitty followed his instructions, and there was something ominous about the sound.

Kurt grinned at her. "Excellent. Now, to load and fire one of these, you have to first tear open the cartridge with your teeth, like this." His fangs made short work of the thin paper, and he spat out a shred of white as he continued. "Try it."

Kitty nodded, and her normal, human molars made a ripping sound as she emulated Kurt. "Like this?"

"Yes," Kurt nodded. "Now, once you've got the cartridge open, you have to fill the flash pan full of powder. Make sure you get it in the vent, too."

"Flash pan?" Kitty couldn't help being confused.

"See that little thing that looks like a plate? That's the flash pan, Kitty." Kurt said patiently. "When the flint strikes the powder there, it will create a spark, and this will travel through that vent there," he pointed to the slit in question, "and that will ignite the powder in the barrel."

"So I just dump it in there?"

"Not exactly," Kurt said. "You don't want to put too much, or the gun may destroy itself. And if you put too little, you may get a misfire."

Kitty nodded, and liberally sprinkled the black, grainy substance in the small metal dish with nervous fingers. "Now what?"

"Now, you take the ramrod," Kurt extracted a thin metal pole from the underside of his pistol, "and use it to ram the powder and ball down the barrel. Make sure it's in there all the way," he added, sidling over to Kitty to get a better view of her efforts.

She emptied the rest of the gunpowder in the barrel's confines, and the lead ball that served as ammunition followed. The ramrod pumped rapidly, until Kitty was sure that she had followed her instructions to the letter.

Kurt smiled warmly at her. "You're learning fast. All you have to do now is pull the hammer back some more. This will take it from half-cock to full-cock, and that will remove the safety, so make sure you have it pointed in a safe direction."

The gilded hammer made another sinister click, and Kitty regarded the now-loaded weapon with curiosity. "All of this for one shot?"

"Yep," Kurt replied. "But practice makes perfect, you know. I've heard the Prussians can do all of this less than a minute." A smug smile crossed his face. "So can I."

"What shall I aim at?" Kitty wondered, her arm slackening.

"Don't point the pistol downward like that," Kurt chided her gently. "Or the powder will run out of the barrel."

Kitty blushed with embarrassment. "Sorry."

Kurt shrugged. "Don't be. I nearly blew my own head off the first time I tried to use one of these. And as to your question, Kitty, see if you can hit that branch over there." He pointed to one of the overhanging limbs. It was not very small or very thick, but sizeable, and thus made the perfect target for an amateur shooter like Kitty.

Eager to impress her friend, Kitty closed one eye and pointed the pistol upward. Her slender finger pulled the trigger, and her efforts were rewarded with a flash and a satisfying _bang._

The unfortunate branch was splintered almost in half by the force of the shot, and Kitty's face lit up with excitement. "I did it!" she exclaimed happily.

Kurt flashed those fangs at her. "Beginner's luck," he said teasingly, hefting a pistol of his own. "Watch this…"

A/N: Hey, guys! I know it's been a while, and I thank you all for your patience during my absence! I just couldn't leave you all without posting one more chapter! ^^ Anyway, keep an eye out, 'cause in the next chapter, Kurt introduces Kitty to the fascinating world of swords (and some MAJOR fluffiness to boot!) And all the while, Sanchez continues to follow them…

Your humble servant,


	10. Chapter 10

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not X-Men.

Chapter 10: Quickening

_KRANG!_

Kurt grunted with effort as Kitty's slender blade rasped against his own, and the force of the collision sent a swarm of birds squawking from the nearby trees. His blade was curved and single-edged, with a half-basket hilt and S-shaped quillons, tapering to a wickedly sharp edge that glimmered in the midmorning sunlight. Sweat ran down the mutant's forehead in a steady stream, and Kurt shook his head like a mad bull to get the moisture out of his eyes.

Kitty, meanwhile, had taken to her sword like a fish to water. It was more exotic and more lavish than Kurt's, with an ivory handle and rounded hilt. This was studded artfully with rounded pieces of pink and blue coral, and its deeply curved blade rang almost musically against the opposing steel. Kitty's weapon was obviously of Muslim make, perhaps a trophy taken from a far-off battlefield. But whatever its origins, the sword served a new owner now.

Kitty stepped to the side as Kurt had taught her, parrying his thrust and slashing downward toward his legs. Kurt leapt a short distance into the air, and the massive recovery time of Kitty's strike gave him an opening to her neck and torso. His blade hummed as he swung it in a graceful arc, but Kitty had just enough time to bring her guard back up and deflect Kurt's weapon away from her.

_CLANG!_

Again the two swords clashed, and Kitty's face was inches away from Kurt's blue, familiar features. He smiled roguishly at her, his voice tight as they strained back and forth.

"You're getting better every day," Kurt said proudly.

"Better than you," she retorted playfully, sweat staining the dress Kitty wore. Kitty's clothes, Kurt noticed, looked as if they had been through a war zone. He made a mental note to swipe some new ones on his next shopping trip of dubious legality.

Something slammed against the back of Kurt's ankle, and his knees buckled automatically as he dropped his sword in shock. Kurt lay on the ground, stunned, and Kitty smiled sweetly at him with her blade outstretched.

"Do you yield?" she asked.

"Never," Kurt replied with fake gruffness. His tail made a noise reminiscent of a whip's crack, curling around Kitty's lower leg and taking her balance right out. She fell, and Kurt used his superior weight to pin her to the ground.

"Do YOU yield?" he asked, imitating the tone Kitty had used. Kurt's fangs widened slightly with his panting breath, and he gazed down at Kitty, trapped as she was beneath him.

Her eyes seem to ensnare him, and for the first time Kurt noticed how…_pretty_ they were. He had never seen a color quite like it: the brown of Kitty's pupils reminded him of light brown leaves in autumn, or a fresh tan after a day in the sun, or…

Coherent thought was lost, and Kurt could not make himself tear his eyes away from hers.

Then Kitty spoke, her voice husky, as if she were consumed by nervous excitement. "Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you let me up, please?"

A furious blush turned Kurt's face an even greater shade of blue, and he hastily got to his feet, offering a hand of assistance as he did so. Kitty took it gratefully, tired as she was, but the feeling of his hand in hers was…e_xtraordinary._

They seemed to be as soft as velvet, blunt but possessing a rare dexterity, and the fuzziness of his palm felt not unlike a cat's. Electricity, a pleasant fire, crackled up Kitty's arm and made her knees weak. Kitty felt somewhat lightheaded, but not in a bad way, and she found herself wishing that she did not have to let go.

She glanced over at him, with those kindly golden eyes…if only the Church could see the compassion and inherent _goodness_ that lay behind those eyes…

Kitty barely remembered being helped to her now-unsteady feet, but when Kurt abruptly removed his hand, all these feelings deserted her as if scattered by the wind. When she spoke, Kitty couldn't help her voice shaking a little.

"I'm…going to go bathe," she said. "I would not like to be malodorous, in case the Inquisition has dogs with them."

"Good idea," Kurt said. "I'll wait here and fix us something to eat."

Kitty nodded, and headed off a short distance away to the stream she had discovered only that morning. It was no warm, sunny creek; the waters were running in a fast current, and the temperature was starting to drop with the first tendrils of winter's chill. Kitty shuddered involuntary as she tested it herself, and goosebumps broke out on her arms. But hesitation would not make the water any warmer, she knew. Best to just get it over with as quickly as possible. With this in mind, she stepped out of her now-ragged dress and slipped into the stream just a few feet above her knees.

Normally, Kitty would have been on the lookout for any unscrupulous men watching her, but this was wild country. No one lived all the way out here, and Kurt didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd do such a perverted thing. She rinsed herself slowly, thoroughly, and the day's grime and sweat was carried away by the current. As Kitty finished washing herself, a movement on the peripheries of her vision distracted her. She half-turned, curiously, and her eyes widened in horror at the sizeable snake on the bank not two feet away. In all likelihood, the creature was harmless, but the fact was lost upon Kitty as she eyed the two feet of scaly skin with speechless terror.

It hissed at her.

She screamed.

_Meanwhile…_

Kurt stiffened at the high-pitched shriek that rang through the trees. It could be no other than Kitty, he knew, for this vast wilderness was largely uninhabited, save for the tiny towns and farms he passed occasionally. The curved sword rasped as he drew it from its sheath, and he sped off through the trees with a speed borne of urgency, his maddeningly twitching tail a hint of the worry he was feeling.

Back at the stream, Kitty tried to back away as the serpent bared its fangs at her again. The fearsome sight was almost enough to make her faint, and enormous relief washed over her as Kurt bounded over the nearby shrubbery with his sword in hand.

She pointed wordlessly, and Kurt immediately inferred the cause of Kitty's distress. The shining blade whistled as he swung it, and unfortunate reptile slumped like a wet piece of cord, dispatched in a single blow.

Kurt's voice was full of concern as he turned to address her. "Are you all-" Speech failed him when he realized that Kitty was standing there completely naked. Kurt's mouth worked up and down, but a croak was all that he managed to utter.

"EEEEEK!" Kitty realized the awkwardness of the situation in a trice, and turned away, clutching herself. Kurt, meanwhile, suddenly regained his sense of propriety and high-tailed it out of there, his face burning like Hell's furnace.

Kitty thought she would die of embarrassment. First she had acted like she'd never seen a little old snake before, but then Kurt's admittedly good intentions had gone horribly awry. Her cheeks turned a rather lovely shade of vermillion as humiliation swept over her. _I don't think I can even look him in the face,_ she thought despondently. _He probably thinks of me as a loose woman now! What if he leaves? How will I evade the Inquisition without him to protect me?_

Kitty's stomach rumbled loudly, and she sighed as she reached for her dress. Though the thought of facing Kurt was abhorrent to her, the need to fill her stomach drove Kitty back to their encampment.

Kurt stirred the fire viciously, and the flames reflected his current temperament. _Kitty is probably furious with me,_ he moaned silently. _She thinks me a pervert, or worse!_ Despair threatened to overwhelm him, and he ladled a portion of soup into his traveling bowl. Kurt's appetite had long deserted him, but he needed to eat to keep up his strength.

"Is dinner ready?" Kitty's quiet voice behind him made Kurt jump slightly. His face heated up again, and he turned his head away from her. "Yes. Help yourself."

Kitty took a seat next to him, and filled a second bowl with whatever was cooking. Her heart threatened to shatter as she saw the shamed look on Kurt's face, but she said nothing.

After a moment of awkward silence, Kurt couldn't take it anymore. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his face a mask of shame. "I…I did not mean to intrude on your privacy." His voice broke before he could continue, and Kitty felt overwhelming sympathy for her friend. It would be typical of Kurt's sweet nature to blame nobody but himself for something like this.

Kitty struggled for a moment, and found her tongue. "I am not angry, Kurt. It was my foolishness that caused the whole thing. I shouldn't have let that snake startle me so."

"I…" Kurt couldn't bring himself to speak, but the message was clear: _So you don't think I'm some kind of peeping Tom?_

"Do not berate yourself," Kitty said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "What's done is done, so why try to change it? Let us move on, okay?"

Kurt took a deep breath, and he seemed to be exhaling all the guilt and shame that he'd been feeling. A small smile split his face. "Okay."

The fire burned to embers as the two friends enjoyed their meal, laughing and joking underneath the clear, starry sky.

A/N: Well, what can I say? I promised you fluff, and I ALWAYS deliver! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, 'cause I've got a feeling we haven't seen the last of Pedro Sanchez and the diabolical Cardinal Vittorio…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	11. Chapter 11

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 11: A Demon's Tears

_Vatican City, Rome, two days ago…_

Cardinal Vittorio held a silk handkerchief to his nose as he carefully descended the stone steps. He was no longer young, and the hems of his robes threatened to trip up his balance at every turn on his nefarious mission.

It was a descent into Hell.

The dungeons of the Inquisition were almost universally feared by European Christendom. The barbarity and sadism that took place within these reeking catacombs was almost beyond belief, and Vittorio sniffed in disdain at the scenes around him.

Within the wretched, dank cells, men and women wasted away in their chains, reduced to cringing, emaciated wretches from neglect and abuse. Whips cracked in the confined spaces, and the callous laughter of the Inquisition's guards contrasted jarringly with the screams of their victims. The moans of the dying, the clanking of blood-encrusted chains, and the sweet, sickly smell of death all combined to create an unholy orchestra of pain and suffering.

Cardinal Vittorio couldn't care less. These people were heretics, and therefore inhuman, and they were also a means to his end. Their fates did not matter as long as he achieved his goal. And, to be frank, the Cardinal enjoyed seeing other people in pain, so visiting the dungeons was the sort of hobby he enjoyed.

There are many reasons why a man might murder, he reflected. Love, revenge, and money were all motives at one time or another. But the evil old man had only one reason to commit _this _particular murder.

The Cardinal would be a Pope.

Vittorio craved power and status more than anything else in life, and he really didn't care who had to suffer as long as his plans came to fruition. And succeed they would, when that foolish Captain came back with the demon in tow.

The scenario would play out like clockwork. His Holiness Pope Gregory XIII, being the soft hearted fool that he was, would of course visit the demon in person to decide whether it was supernatural or earthly in origin. Before he did, his loyal servant Vittorio would give him a warm cup of his favorite tea to soothe his nerves. After all, His Holiness was no longer young, and could tire very easily without a caffeine boost now and then.

But that weakling would have no idea that the cup's rim would be smeared with a deadly poison!

Vittorio would, of course, be horrified to discover the Holy Father's body in the Demon's cage. The death of His Holiness would serve to confirm the creature's evil nature, and the beast would be treated to an especially painful death to avenge the tragedy. And as the hero who tried vainly to save the Pope, Vittorio would be a shoo-in for the papacy once the next papal conclave was held. He would live out his days in the lap of luxury, the most powerful man in Europe, and no one would be the wiser.

Captain Pedro would know, Vittorio reminded himself silently, but that was easily taken care of.

After all, tragic riding accidents were so commonplace these days…

_Somewhere in the Spanish countryside…_

Pedro Sanchez was in an especially dark mood today. Over a week had passed since the demon had slipped through his fingers, and yet he still hadn't picked up the creature's trail or found any hint as to where it was headed. He blamed his men for this, of course, and his eyes widened insanely as he berated his hapless troops, who stood in silent ranks before him. Every man was scared to even breathe for fear of drawing down the Captain's wrath.

"I was told that I would embark on this journey with the finest soldiers in all of Christendom," Pedro said in his increasing temper. "Yet I am served by fools, knaves and idlers! Trackers who are so blind and incompetent that they lost the demon's trail! Cowards who call themselves warriors, whose bungling allowed the demon to escape and wreak havoc on God's children! My homeland is tormented by evil, by a wench and a servant of Satan! Where are the bodies of the demon and his collaborator?" Pedro began to move down the ranks, prodding men with his finger as he did so. "Where? Where? WHERE?"

The Captain stopped at the last soldier in line, and his voice took on a light, conversational tone. "Gone. Escaped. What should have happened to them?"

The hapless man's voice trembled in fear when he spoke. "They..sh-should have been..s-slain…"

Pedro suddenly exploded, and his face contorted with fury. "SLAIN!"

With a devastating thrust of his sword, he killed the unfortunate soldier on the spot. "Si, slain, just like this one!" Waving his dripping blade, Pedro saw the fear in the men's eyes and exulted in it. "Hear me now! More of you will follow him if you fail to complete our mission! Break camp and ready the horses! Leave everything save your weapons! It ends today!"

_Meanwhile…_

Kurt Wagner bit his lip in concentration as he slowly brought his musket to bear. The weapon was heavy and slow to reload; if he missed this shot, then he and Kitty could kiss dinner goodbye.

After all, a red-breasted robin is not usually inclined to wait thirty seconds for a hunter to reload.

The mutant closed one eye tightly shut as he took aim and pulled the trigger. But in a spectacular instance of bad luck, the stupid bird chose that exact moment to hop a few inches to one side. The robin and every other bird in the vicinity took to the skies in a flurry of wings.

Kurt cursed his bad luck.

Some distance away, Pedro thanked his.

_Later…_

Kurt grumbled viciously under his breath as he returned to the campsite. Kitty smiled at him, but her face fell as she noticed the distinct lack of supper he'd brought along.

"You didn't bring back anything?"

"No. It was just pure bad luck," Kurt grumped, unsheathing his sword and stabbing the ground viciously. "We'll just have to see what we can forage for supper tonight, Kitty. I've probably scared off all the game for miles."

"It's okay, Kurt," she said, trying to be consoling. Kitty stood, intent on sitting next to him-

-And the lead musket ball buzzed viciously as it went by her ear. Kurt jumped to his feet, and a voice shouted hoarsely. "GET THEM! NOW!"

Armored soldiers poured out of the trees, yelling war cries, and Kitty couldn't help but cry out in terror. She couldn't move, couldn't run, and couldn't fight, for her body seemed to have broken down from the shock of the attack. Kurt, meanwhile, stood alone against the onslaught with his sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Like a rock facing a tidal wave, he waited until his foes were almost upon him before he struck.

The mutant twisted to one side to avoid a halberd's slash, shooting his attacker point-blank in the face and cleaving the pole-arm's wooden shaft like a link of sausage. His curved blade clashed with a rapier's point, and Kurt used the brass cap of his firearm to break the man's jaw before running him through. The mutant seemed to be everywhere, his bloody blade whirling like a scythe and reaping a harvest of death. Two wild-eyed soldiers rushed Kurt from behind, but he picked up a fallen man's blade; reversing his grip on the weapons so that they pointed backward, he killed both of his assailants without even turning around.

But all too soon, numbers began to tell. A musket ball embedded itself in Kurt's leg, and a longsword slashed cruelly along his arm. He staggered but regained his focus, and Kurt killed the shooter with a single swipe.

Pedro eyed the carnage with boredom and disdain. It was to be expected that the demon would put up such a fierce fight. Indeed, twelve of his best men now lay bloodied and broken upon the soil of Spain. There was a loud, sickening, crack, and Pedro grimace. _Make it thirteen_, he thought. _I believe this has gone on long enough._

He gripped the handle of his sword resolutely and waded into the midst of the carnage.

Kurt, meanwhile, was too absorbed with fighting for his life to notice the gigantic Inquisitor sneaking up behind him. He was too involved with killing the man in front that he didn't watch his back.

Thus, he never knew it when Pedro brought the hardened pommel of his sword down on the back of his head.

Stars exploded in Kurt's vision, lances of pain arced across his skull, and he felt the world begin to slip away as his knees buckled beneath him.

Kurt glanced over at his only friend. A solitary tear trickled down his face, a beacon of sorrow for what could have been, and his heart sank with a bone-weary despair. The blackness began to claim him, and Kurt glanced one last time at his only friend.

He spoke with his last conscious breath."Run."

And then he knew no more.

_At the same time…_

Kitty felt her heart shatter as the huge man knocked her friend to the ground. Anguish of an intensity she'd never known twisted her heartstrings, and she was reaching for a sword when she realized the futility of it all. If a seasoned fighter like Kurt could be brought down by these men, Kitty wouldn't stand a chance.

Then Kurt's golden eyes met hers, and his voice was laden with regret and sorrow.

"Run," her friend said, before he crumpled like a broken doll. The sight was burned into Kitty's memory with a hot iron, and her breath caught in her throat as Kurt's assailant glanced over at her.

_Run,_ Kurt had said.

And so she did.

A/N: Just in case you're confused: Kurt is NOT dead, just unconscious. But what will become of our hapless hero? Will Kitty find a way to save her friend? And will Vittorio succeed in his diabolical plot? Find out in coming chapters!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	12. Chapter 12

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men Evolution

Chapter 12: Torment

_(_Additional Disclaimer: If you are easily distressed or have a tendency to sob uncontrollably, it is recommended that you have a box of tissues handy before you start reading._)_

_Barcelona, Spain_

Clank.

The chains binding the poor wretch's warped feet rasped as they were dragged slowly across the cobblestones.

Clank.

Again, Kurt Wagner shuffled slowly, bound in iron shackles on his wrists and ankles. He was no longer the strong young man he had been; one eye was swollen shut, burns charred the flesh between his furry fingers, and his tunic lay in bloody tatters from the lashings that had been a welcoming gift from the Spanish Inquisition. His bare feet screamed in agony; Pedro himself had blistered the soles with a hot iron, and each step felt as if Kurt was walking on fiery needles.

A spearbutt landed squarely in the small of his back and sent lances of pain across Kurt's bruised and broken body, but he no longer had the breath to scream. The blow was not intended to hasten his pace, but rather to cause Kurt as much suffering as humanly possible, so as to appease the viewing masses.

That was another thing Pedro had made a point of doing. The twisted Spaniard was not content merely to capture him. Nor was he satisfied with mere physical abuse.

Instead, Pedro had publicly paraded Kurt in chains through every city and town they'd passed, so all of Spain could take part in Kurt's suffering and humiliation. Shackled, malnourished and heavy with despair, Kurt was displayed like an animal wherever his captors went. The citizenry of Spain was hardly any better. They were whipped into a frenzy of hatred and rage, pelting him with rotten fruit and anything else that could be thrown as they jeered and laughed at Kurt's impending doom.

Clank.

It was the same story here in Barcelona, the last stop before Pedro loaded Kurt onto a galleon and shipped him to Rome. There he would die amidst squalor and hopelessness in some obscure dungeon. The people lined the streets, exulting in Kurt's misery, and their cries of hatred and bigotry sent Kurt's heart plummeting even further.

"Spawn of Satan! Begone and never return!"

"Kill him!"

"Burn him at the stake!"

"Carve out his entrails!"

"Stick his head on a pike!"

"Death to the demon!"

If they were expecting Kurt to burst into tears, the townsfolk would have been disappointed. Kurt had long since cried his eyes dry. His hysteria had all too soon given way to a quiet, heavy resignation, despair so deep and heavy that it consumed his entire being. Kurt knew he was condemned to die, known it as soon as he'd woken up in Pedro's camp. Doubtless he would also die horribly and slowly, if that sick bastard had anything to say about it. Such a creature, Pedro had said, was not deserving of a swift demise. But even in the unfathomable depths of despair, a single fact made all of this worth bearing.

Kitty had gotten away.

He'd seen her escape, just before blacking out that fateful day. That she was alive and well made all of Kurt's anguish and suffering worth bearing, and he would have gone through it all again if it meant keeping Kitty safe.

Pedro had been furious, of course. He'd tortured Kurt for long hours in an attempt to extract information on Kitty's whereabouts. The unimaginable suffering Kurt had borne at the Captain's hands was almost beyond belief, and his blood had flowed freely on the Spanish soil.

It had all been in vain. Kurt had told Pedro nothing.

He hadn't said how much he'd come to care for Kitty, how his heart beat faster when she was near him, and how her touch made him feel lightheaded and slightly drunk at the same time. Kurt hadn't mentioned how Kitty made even the most everyday actions seem adorable, or how her smile seemed to outshine the sun.

But above all else, Kurt had never hinted that he was in love with the young woman who'd saved his life.

Kitty had become his entire world in the short time he'd known her. She was strong, beautiful, independent, and couldn't care less what he looked like. Kitty was a warm, caring, and compassionate person, whose willfulness and occasional stubbornness made Kurt lover her all the more.

Kurt would die with a smile on his face, knowing that Kitty was safe, and that Pedro Sanchez would never find her. Kitty was smart, more so than the Captain or any of his men, and Kurt had taught her all he knew. Catherine Hernandez would be the one who got away. Kurt knew this would drive the insane Sanchez even further over the brink, and he would laugh defiantly at his tormentor even as the axe fell or the fires consumed him.

Kurt's body may have been bleeding and broken, but his spirit remained strong against the tide of hatred and prejudice. He bore his enormous suffering with silent dignity, never once hinting at the despair that gnawed at him like a corrosive acid.

A rotten tomato splattered across his raw, oozing back, and Kurt bit his lip to keep from screaming as the plant's acidic juices ran into his wounds. As terrible as it may be, the mutant knew his pain wouldn't last forever.

The massive warship loomed across the harbor, and Kurt's mind absently remembered a verse of the Lord's prayer.

_Though I walk through the valley,_

_Of the shadow of death,_

_I shall fear no evil_

As he dragged himself across the jetty, Kurt vowed that he would protect Kitty until his last breath left his body…

A/N: I know it's a short chapter, but I kinda felt bad for leaving you guys hanging like that! XD But what has become of Kitty? Will she find a way to save poor Kurt? Find out in coming chapters!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	13. Chapter 13

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 13: Kitty's Odyssey

In practically any coastal city or port you'd care to name, the waterfront district was_always_ the seediest and most dangerous part of town.

Sailors on shore leave were wild and raucous more often than not, eager to jump ship and waste their wages on rum and prostitutes, many passing out dead drunk on the filthy streets. It was not uncommon for a tar to literally drink himself to death in those days, and you went into a tavern not knowing if you'd lose your gold or lose your life. Gunshots were heard night and day, glass shattered in tune with the almost constant bar fights, and drunkards laid into each other with swords and daggers on the side of the road. It was a place that appealed to many young men, wild, unpredictable and suitable for a lad searching for adventure, and almost no one of higher standing dared to venture into the sailors' domain.

No one, that is, with the exception of one Catherine Hernandez.

Kurt's capture had taken a heavy toll on her. Kitty's dress was torn and ragged, her face smudged and dirty, and her once-clean fingers coated with grime. She'd been on the run for days after Kurt's capture, fleeing aimlessly into the woods with no particular destination in mind.

The ache in her heart was almost indescribable, and Kitty had spent many lonely hours sobbing in the lonely wilderness. Kurt had become so important to her in such a short time, as if she'd never really begun to _live_until she met him. Kurt was strong, brave, and handsome in his own blue, furry way, with a kind heart and sweet nature that was so hard to find in young men his age. But most of all, Kurt was not put off by Kitty's strong personality and fierce independence. If anything, he seemed to admire her for it when every _other_ man in Europe expected his wife to be silent and totally submissive.

Kitty sighed, and tears once again threatened to spill down her cheeks. Kurt was such a caring and warm person…he didn't deserve the enmity of all Christendom just because he looked different than everybody else! How was it possible that only _she _could see the goodness in him? What was she to do without Kurt to protect her? He had supported and cared for Kitty the way no one else ever had, always willing to lend an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on, always making sure Kitty had everything she needed before he took care of his _own _needs. More than once during those weeks in the Spanish countryside, Kurt had given his share of rations to Kitty when she was hungry. He'd done so much for her, and…and…

Kurt had stolen Catherine Hernandez's heart. There was really no point in denying it, for Kitty knew on an almost molecular level that Kurt was the only man in the whole world for her. No one had _ever _made Kitty feel like this.

So it was that the brave young woman resolved to rescue Kurt, or die trying.

Kitty knew enough about the Inquisition to determine their destination. Kurt was a valuable prize to them, so it was only logical that he be shipped to the Vatican for a very public and _very _painful execution. After all, what better place to kill a demon than the very center of European Christendom? And Pedro's ego, too, would settle for nothing else.

It was inevitable, therefore, that Kitty would be searching for a method of transportation.

There were two options in this day and age: going by land or going by sea. That first one was out of the question, since Rome was all the way on the other side of Europe. An overland route would require crossing the through Portugal into Germany (which consisted of a patchwork of kingdoms, and none of them were friendly toward outsiders). And assuming Kitty made it out of German alive (unlikely), she would then have to head south and cross the infamous Swiss Alps into Italy. All of that would likely take months, and by the time Kitty got to Rome Kurt would probably be long dead.

That left the option of traveling by sea. It was much faster and much more discreet, depending on who you hired for passage. But unfortunately, the people who usually agreed to take on secret passengers were usually of questionable legality, namely privateers or smugglers, and their rates were more often than not exorbitant. Another concern was that women usually didn't fare well in the company of such morally dubious men.

The money required for payment was just one more obstacle. Kitty was penniless, with not a single peso to her name, and it was for this reason that she found herself in the seedy part of Barcelona's harbor. Drunk men, she reasoned, were easier to part from their money; after all, one was bound to make larger and riskier bets when one's reasoning was impaired. Kitty was a competent card player, thanks, yet again, to Kurt's tutelage, but without any money she could _not _afford to lose.

People who couldn't pay had a nasty habit of disappearing around here, and an involuntary shudder went down Kitty's spine as she entered a particularly disreputable-looking tavern.

_Inside the Three Goats Tavern…_

In all the seas and oceans, there was wasn't another man like Black John Hughes. He lived for only three things: rum, wenches, and above all else, gold. Spanish gold was his favorite, but he would take whatever currency happened to come his way.

Hughes was a fearsome sight. At almost six feet tall, he towered over all the men in his crew. His vast brown beard, now streaked with gray, gave him an almost feral appearance. This was a man who'd seen a lot of action in his life, for Hughes was missing his left eye, and a long, ropy scar narrowly missed his right eye. A chunk of his nose was gone, too, as well as part of his right middle finger.

Hughes was of the opinion that a captain of a ship should look the part, and dressed himself accordingly. He wore a ragged, charcoal grey coat with buttons made of melted silver, and the frilly cuffs of his white silk shirt poked out from beneath its sleeves. He wore no hat, but a scarlet bandanna around Hughes's skull served to keep the wind and sweat out of his eyes. Both of Hughes's ears sported gold piercings, and his fingers were bedecked in precious stones. A short, heavy cutlass lay within easy reach, and a rather plain-looking pistol was tucked into the sash around his waist.

As the reader has probably inferred, Hughes was a privateer by trade, a sort of legalized pirate who would accept a dubious license or "letter of marque" from any European power who happened to be at war with its neighbor. Privateers were attractive to European governments; hiring the brigands was much less expensive than raising a navy. The only downside was that most of these privateers automatically turned pirate when peace resumed.

Hughes was no different. He had no sense of loyalty to any country, not even his native England, and he would fight for whichever nation made the best offer. But unlike his bloodthirsty comrades, Hughes was unique for two things: he was as clever as he was cunning, and he knew the limits of violence. That wasn't to say that the man hadn't slit his share of throats, but Hughes realized there was also benefit to _not _killing everything in sight once he took a vessel.

Hughes had bilgewater for blood and sea air for a soul, but in spite of this, he was almost fanatical about adhering to his contract. It was widely known that when Hughes gave his word, he kept it, and heaven help anyone who got in his way. Unusual for someone in his line of work, to be sure, but anyone who'd mocked Hughes for his scruples had stopped breathing on the end of his blade.

The sea dog sat at the chipped wooden table, downing a tankard of rum calmly even when surrounded by the chaos of a rather vicious bar fight. Hughes wasn't worried; no one would dare strike him for fear of instant death, and to be frank, one you've seen one bar fight, you've seen them all.

Then the ruckus died as quickly as if someone had pulled a switch. _That _was worth looking up for. A fight could start for any reason, but it took something _really _out of the ordinary to stop one before everybody involved was unconscious.

In all his many years at sea, John Hughes had seen many strange and wonderful things. Almost nothing could rattle his calm.

But the sight of a _very _attractive young woman walking into a sailor hangout made his bearded jaw hit the floor. This girl, he decided, was either suicidal or unbelievably naïve.

Kitty, meanwhile, took a seat at what seemed to be a very high-stakes poker game. A mischievous grin crossed her face. "Deal me in."

From his seat across the bar, Hughes arched a hairy eyebrow in amusement. The lady was certainly not lacking in nerve, he decided. The fact that she was surrounded by an assortment of unsavory and grizzled old seamen didn't seem to scare her in the slightest. Such bravery would have been commendable among any of his men. Hughes became more than a little annoyed, however, when one of the tars at the card table laughed in Kitty's face.

"This be no place fer a lady," he said, his grin showing off the rotted stumps of his teeth. "Be off wi' ye, wench!"

Hughes scowled, and his chair made not a sound as he quietly stood up.

Kitty, meanwhile, was somewhat put off. She hadn't expected a particularly warm welcome, but the simple fact was that if the tavern's patrons decided to throw her out, there wouldn't be much she could do about it.

_CLICK._

Any further mockery on the speaker's part was cut off rather abruptly. A gun to the temple can work wonders when you want someone to shut the hell up.

"If ye value yer life, mate, ye'll honor th' lady's request," Hughes said in his gravelly voice. "She's got more spine than any five o' ye put t'gether."

"Aye, sir," the man replied, looking away.

Kitty smiled deviously as she picked up her cards….

_Half an hour later…_

Hughes was not a man prone to laughter. A lifetime of violence tended to kill one's sense of humor.

But the sight of a teenage girl thrashing a bunch of big, hairy men at poker was almost enough to make him burst. His shoulders shook with concealed merriment, and he momentarily put his pipe aside to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes.

When he looked up, she was standing right in front of him. That was nothing unusual, given Hughes's popularity with women, but the rather obese bag of gold in her palm was enough to make him listen. In his experience, people never had gold with them unless they had the intention of spending it.

"Thanks for your help back there," Kitty said, trying to conceal the fact that her knees were trembling with anxiety.

"Eh, some o' these louts need puttin' in their place from time to time," Hughes replied noncommittally. "But that's not why ye're here, is it?"

"No," Kitty admitted. "I'm here because I have a proposition for you, Captain."

That she knew who he was didn't surprise Hughes. His men were loyal, and only too eager to expound on his many feats of daring. "And kind of proposition be that?"

The jumble of coins _plinked _as Kitty set them down on the table. "How fast can you get to Rome?"

Hughes scratched his beard thoughtfully. "I can make it in per'aps a month, mebbe two. Why?"

"That's not part of the deal," Kitty replied. "Can you get me there or not?"

"Sure I can," Hughes said. "I take it ye need passage?"

Kitty gestured to the wealth on the table. "I can make it worth your while."

The money was considerable, Hughes admitted. It'd make a decent share for every member of his crew, and it would save him the trouble of plundering it himself. And to be perfectly honest, land never sat right with him. He was itching to be at sea again.

A small smile crossed his face. "Then settle yer affairs, lass. I'll take ye to Rome, right enough. We sail with the tide."

A/N: I know it's been a few days, and I thank you all for your patience! ^^ And, never fear, for Kurt will get some screen time in the next chapter! What will happen to Kurt in the clutches of the diabolical Captain Sanchez? Will Kitty make it to Rome in time? Find out in coming chapters!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	14. Chapter 14

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 14: Defiance

(A/N: Let me reiterate one more time that the opinions Pedro expresses in this chapter are not intended to malign or insult the Catholic Church in _any way, shape, form or fashion._ This is merely a story, with a purpose to entertain its readers. Nothing more, nothing less.)

_Somewhere..._

Contrary to what Errol Flynn and Johnny Depp may lead one to believe, being on an old-fashioned sailing ship was _not _a pleasant experience.

The food was, more often than not, spoiled or spoiling. Fresh water went stale very quickly, so many seaman had to make do with rum or ale. Produce, such as fruits and vegetables, rotted in the dank, musty cargo hold. Meat was really the only food to be had here, but even that was almost unbearable; it was standard procedure to pickle the beef and pork in salt, and the result was a taste so overpowering that many tars had to get tipsy with rum before forcing it down. The infamous hardtack was also on every menu. The rock-solid biscuits were almost certainly infested with weevils, and it was preferred to consume them in the dark so the sailors could not to see the worms' heads poking out of their evening repast. Such a limited diet produced periodic outbreaks of scurvy, that bane of sailors everywhere; indeed, it was not uncommon for a man to die, not from sword slashes or musket balls, but from malnutrition, food poisoning, or any one of a dozen diseases.

Those ailments spread like wildfire on board a ship. The living quarters were cramped and confined, infested with rats and cockroaches and all manner of filthy vermin. Sailors often fought over tattered blankets infested with lice or fleas, and the lower decks were awash in bilgewater and human excrement. The captain was probably the only man aboard any blue-water vessel who had an entire cabin all to himself, and it was often resentment among his crew that spurred the bloodiest of mutinies.

Then, after all that, one must take into account all the day-to-day risks of such work. A tar could fall from the mast and shatter like an eggshell, he could be caught in a gale and swept over the side. Or he could commence quarrelling with one of his shipmates, and die with a dagger between his shoulder blades. Discipline on almost every vessel was commonly draconian, the only exception being the privateers who operated under more democratic conventions. But to sailors in a more honest line of work, the captain held absolute power in all things. Minor offenses commonly warranted floggings, after which salt water would be dumped on the man's wounds. Striking a superior officer warranted anything from the loss of a hand to instant death, and even then there were a multitude of options available for execution. Hanging was standard, as were firing squads, but by far the most barbaric practice was the feared punishment known as keelhauling. The poor soul who had to endure such a fate was stripped to the waist and a rope tied along his ankles, whereupon he would be slung over the stern of the ship and dragged underneath her all the way to the bow. The razor-sharp barnacles that encrusted the ship's hull would in the process scrape and shred the flesh of the man's back, and he would likely bleed to death if he did not drown. Even if the unfortunate tar emerged from the sea alive, he would probably die a slower, more agonizing death when his wounds became septic or rotted with gangrene.

Kurt Wagner would have gladly taken his chances and jumped over the side, were it not for the ball and chain around his ankle that slowed his pace.

He did not know how long it had been since the Inquisition had marched him into the brig and locked him there. The passage of time lost meaning to the poor mutant, surrounded as he was in the darkness of the warship's lower decks. The only light that ever shined here was from the lantern carried by the man assigned to feed Kurt, but given the prospect of what he was being fed for, the young man soon lost his appetite. The Inquisition needed him to still be breathing when the galleon dropped anchor in Rome, so for the sake of his future execution Kurt needed to be kept alive.

But just barely.

If Kurt had been a wreck before, he now looked like a corpse, malnourished and thin with almost no weight on him. His daily meal consisted only of stale water and hardtack, and even then the guards would sometimes withhold the food just for the hell of it. It never failed to satisfy Pedro and his men when they could watch Kurt's pain and suffering.

Even Pedro Sanchez himself "visited" Kurt from time to time, describing in lurid detail the various tortures that would lead up to his hideous demise. The Spaniard would spend long hours indulging ecstatically on Kurt's misery, and Kurt had concluded, quite correctly, that the man was a complete raving lunatic.

Today's visit was no different. Pedro had walked in on Kurt when he was trying to sleep, but a bucket of seawater soon jolted the hapless mutant into wakefulness.

"You do not deserve rest," Pedro said casually, putting the bucket down. "You will only close those hideous eyes when I am done killing you. And that will not be in the near future, demon. You deserve to suffer before the Church sends you back to Hell."

Kurt spat the saltwater out of his mouth. "Is that…what you keep telling yourself?" he rasped, his voice husky from disuse. "You…torture people, innocent people, and for what? What…did those people…ever do to you or your Church? What could they have done…to deserve such a fate?"

"Those _swine _went against the doctrines of the Catholic Church!" Pedro snarled. "They did not deserve to live for defying God's will!"

"And how…do you know…what God's will is?" Kurt asked. "None of us…do."

"DO NOT SPEAK OF THE LORD ALMIGHTY, HELLSPAWN!" Pedro roared. "You are not fit to lick my boots!"

"You are blinded by your hate," Kurt stated from his position behind the cell bars. "I've…never done anything…to hurt anyone…even to your men, who tried to kill me."

"And what about those men who lie dead back in Spain?" Pedro hissed. "You murdered thirteen of God's soldiers when we took you prisoner, to face His justice!"

Kurt would have laughed, but he didn't have the energy for it. "I couldn't care less what you do to me. I only killed them…because they would have killed Kitty…Would have let them live…if given the choice…"

"Lies," Pedro snarled. "More and more lies from between your foul lips. You enjoyed cutting my men down! The servants of Lucifer find joy in destruction!"

"Then…what does that make you?" Kurt riposted, grinning crookedly. "From what I hear, you're not…a paragon of virtue, Sanchez."

"It was necessary, to purge Europe of evil," The Spaniard replied automatically.

Kurt wheezed in lieu of full-blown laughter. "What was that old saying? 'Necessity…the tyrant's plea…' Those people did nothing to you or your precious Church…they only had different thoughts and opinions…"

"The Church is always right in all things," Pedro said with absolute conviction. "Anyone who says otherwise must be in league with Satan, like you."

"I'm not gonna waste my breath…trying to change your mind on that one."

"A shrewd decision," Pedro replied. "You will need it when you scream your last at the stake."

_Meanwhile…_

Black John Hughes ran his coarse, calloused fingers over the tiller of his vessel, the _Ranger._ It was of the class known as the brigantine, rigged square on the foremast, and gaff-rigged on the mainmast with trysails and stay-sails in between. At eighty feet long, the _Range_ was larger than the sloops most privateers preferred, carrying twelve cannon and a hundred men at Black John's command.

The presence of a woman aboard would be troublesome, he knew. Many of Hughes's hearties were very superstitious, and convinced that a member of the fairer sex on their vessel would bring them to ruin. Hughes himself held no belief in such ridiculous poppycock, but the fact remained that he had given young Ms. Hernandez his word, and he meant to keep it. The bag of gold she'd offered as payment(and the lure of sultry Italian women once Hughes and his men arrived in Rome) had thankfully been enough to stifle most of the men's complaints. But at least one tar had insisted on "sharing" Kitty among his mates.

Hughes had shot that fellow in the chest. Just because they were thieves, he'd said, didn't mean that his men had to act like savages. His eyes had narrowed dangerously down the length of his still-smoking barrel. Mistress Pryde was a guest on his ship, and should be treated accordingly, Hughes had told his men, and anyone who so much as looked at her the wrong way would be thrown over the side.

There was a strong wind the day the _Ranger _left the harbor of Barcelona, and Hughes barked out orders in between tugging thoughtfully at his beard.

"Two points to port," he called to his quartermaster. "Hard a-lee, Mr. Smith! Make sail!"

"Haul on the sheets!" Smith relayed his orders. "Hard a-port! Heading north-northeast! Look lively!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" the men roared as they scurried about the deck like ants, and the sails billowed as they caught the breeze.

Hughes had mapped the entire trip out the previous evening. The _Ranger _would sail around the coast of Spain, passing through the Strait of Gibraltar before entering the Mediterranean Sea. Admittedly, those waters were ruled by the Barbary Corsairs, but Hughes had won enough scrapes with Moors to know that they'd give him a wide berth. From there, it would be a straight shot to the nearest Italian port, and there Kitty would disembark. Rome was further inland, and a ship could not sail on dirt. It would be up to Kitty to find further transportation after that.

The girl, Hughes decided, had never been to sea once in her entire life. The _Ranger _had barely begun moving when she'd come down with seasickness. Hughes, a gentleman among pirates, had graciously offered her the use of his cabin until she found her sea legs. She was in there right now, the captain knew, and likely with her head in a bucket.

The loss of his bed for a few nights didn't really bother Hughes. He preferred to sleep under the stars anyway, and he'd rather cut off his own hand rather than turn his back to a lady in discomfort.

It was not that Hughes was going soft. He merely wanted to fulfill his end of the deal, and he wouldn't be able to do that if Kitty died from some disease contracted in a filthy hammock.

Deep in the confines of Black John's luxurious cabin, Kitty made a silent vow as her stomach churned once again.

_Hang on, Kurt. I'm coming…_

A/N: Well, I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter! ^^ Will Kurt survive his harrowing journey? Will Kitty reach him in time? And will Vittorio's evil scheme come to fruition? Find out in coming chapters!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

(P.S. Don't worry about saying goodbye to Black John. He has a much bigger role than the one he's playing now…)


	15. Chapter 15

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 15: Conscience and Creeds

It was a clear, blustery morning that found Catherine Hernandez standing upon the _Ranger'_s quarterdeck. The sun was not yet high in the sky, but the cloudless expanses promised fair weather for the coming day. Her brown hair blew across her eyes, and Kitty had to once again pull her bangs from in front of her vision.

As her line of sight cleared, Kitty was startled to see Hughes standing right beside her, at a spot on the railing that had been vacant just seconds before. Though she trusted the man enough to know that no harm would come to her, Kitty was still momentarily intimidated by Hughes's fierce appearance.

The giant nodded courteously at her. "I was beginning to think you'd up an' died in me cabin," Hughes stated. "That'd be a shame; 'tis nice to have some intelligent comp'ny on me ship instead o' these sluggards I got fer a crew."

"I was feeling rather ill," Kitty admitted. "I thought the fresh air would help calm my stomach."

"Still haven't found yer sea legs, eh?" Hughes gave an amused grin. "Never fear, lass. Ye'll be over it soon enough."

"Tell me, Captain, are we any closer to Rome?"

Hughes tugged his beard. "We'll get there when we get there, Ms. Pryde. The winds and currents determine the speed of this ship, ye know. I can't just tell it t'go faster; we gotta make do with what the day gives us. Why're ye in such a hurry t'get to Rome?" he added. "I never bin fond of it meself, seein' as how I've never been a particularly religious bloke, an' I get th' feelin' that yer not goin' there t'pay yer respects, either."

"You're right, Captain," Kitty said quietly. "I am not going there for piety. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Care t'elaborate?"

"Why should I?"

"Because," Hughes said slowly. "Ye ain't bin completely honest wid me when we struck our deal. I got a responsibility t'me crew, lass, an' if there be danger on the horizon I gotta right t'know about it an' so do they. I ain't ready t'die on account o' withheld information."

Kitty sighed, and Hughes noticed her eyes getting farther and farther away. "Tell me, have you ever heard of _El Diablo_?"

"Th' so-called demon runnin' about all o'er Spain?" Hughes tugged his beard again. "I don't know 'im, but I know _of_'im. Isn't he just a myth?"

"You're wrong," Kitty said flatly. "He is very real, but I know firsthand that he is not the evil creature the Church makes him out to be."

"What're ye sayin', lass?"

"His name is Kurt Wagner," Kitty continued softly. "And the entire world has been hunting him because he looks different than everyone else. Kurt has never tried to hurt anyone, not even those who wished him dead. I met him by chance some weeks ago, but now he has been captured by the Inquisition and taken to Rome, where he will undoubtedly be executed. I will not let that happen," Kitty finished, her eyes alight with determination. "I will save Kurt, or die trying, even if I have to cut down Pedro Sanchez himself to do it!"

"Pedro Sanchez?" Hughes's eyes narrowed, and his hand gripped the railing tighter. His voice was a harsh grate when Hughes finally spoke. "I woulda taken ye there free if I'd known it'd mean an opportunity to kill _him._" Kitty glanced curiously at Hughes, and the Captain continued speaking. "He warn't always an Inquisitor, ye know. About ten years back, he was in the Caribbean workin' as a pirate hunter fer the Spanish king. I 'ad the misfortune o' runnin' across 'im one day, an' that big galleon o' his blew me vessel out o' the water. An' even then, he warn't done; that heartless bastard had men point muskets o'er the side an' kill anyone flounderin' about in the water. I was the only one out o' me entire crew to survive that day, an' Sanchez left me with a memento." Hughes pointed to the patch that covered his ruined eye. "I've always bin meanin' to stick a sword in 'im fer takin' me eye, but I've never really been able to find 'im until now. An' I'll tell ye somethin' else, too: any man aboard this ship'd march all the way to Rome itself fer a chance to spill Sanchez's blood. I'll tack on t'this venture o' yers, Miss Pryde, along wid any man who chooses t'go with me!"

Kitty was momentarily taken aback, but the fact was that having a hundred bloodthirsty and vengeance-driven pirates to help her out would vastly improve her chances of getting Kurt out of Rome alive. Hughes was an experienced commander on land or sea, and Pedro would never expect a woman to ally herself with rogues like Hughes and his men. A small smile split her formerly somber features.

"I would greatly appreciate your assistance," she said. "But how do you know your men will agree to this?"

A dark, bitter smile made Kitty shudder. "One thing ye need to know about blokes like me, Ms. Pryde, is that we ne'er let an insult or injury go unpunished..."

_Meanwhile…_

Kurt opened one eye blearily as one of his guards plodded down the wooden steps to his reeking cell. The man bore a dish of only the most rudimentary rations, and his voice let Kurt know that it was not kindness that motivated him.

"We are only a few days from Rome, demon," the Inquisitor spat. "I have been ordered to see to your edibles, so you do not starve before we can execute you properly."

Kurt would have tried to make some witty retort, but his tongue was as thick as a baked sandal. So he merely nodded and accepted the chipped wooden tray. The food might have been delicious for all Kurt knew, but at the prospect of what he was being fed for, it turned to ash in his mouth. The thought of an excruciating death was certainly terrifying, but at the same time comforting. After all, Kurt told himself sadly, his suffering would only last for so long.

Soon, it would all be over…

A/N: Yes, yes, it's a short chapter, but I'm really busy with schoolwork right now and can't find the time for anything else. And seriously, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW! I was actually kinda disappointed because I didn't get a single one for the last chapter, and I want YOUR feedback! If you have ANY ideas or constructive criticism, LET ME KNOW! YOUR OPINION COUNTS! And coming up: Sanchez and his men arrive in Rome, with Kitty and Hughes hot on their heels! It's a race against time to save Kurt _and_the Pope from Cardinal Vittorio's diabolical scheme!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	16. Chapter 16

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 16: Collision Course! A Dangerous Rescue!

Rome.

To every man, woman and child in all of Europe, the name was almost magical.

It was truly the "Eternal City", a nexus of civilization and beauty, of sophistication, commerce and trade. Beautiful statues and sculptures of Emperors and Popes dotted the ancient streets, the same streets where the famous legions of Caesar had trod back in the mists of time. The metropolis was so _alive: _the shouts of vendors and merchants were almost deafening as each tried to outdo all the others in an attempt to expound on the virtues of his wares. Gold flowed freely in the huge marketplace as families bartered for goods from every corner of the world. Persian silks, Greek vases and jars, and weapons from every part of civilization lay side by side in their stalls, while the stale musk of horse dung, the scents of expensive perfumes, and the aromas of practically every fruit and vegetable you'd care to name made one's senses swim. On an ordinary business day, Rome was a sight to behold.

But today was no ordinary business day.

All of the citizenry were abuzz with the news: Pedro Sanchez, the so-called "Sword of the Church" had captured the legendary demon that had been plaguing the Spanish countryside! Everyone who could spare the time had dropped what they were doing, just to get a look at the creature.

The Spanish country folk may have been terrified of Kurt's so called "demonic powers," but the Romans were made of sterner stuff. Their forefathers had defeated the Huns, the Franks, and the Gauls, and even a major fire had leveled the city a time or two. So it was with more curiosity than terror that the people of Rome lined the streets.

Pedro Sanchez arrived in a style fitting of his megalomania. He didn't want to disappoint the masses by not giving them a show.

Slowly, majestically, his massive warship sailed into Rome's harbor. Its sheer size let it tower over every other vessel moored there, its pennants flying and fluttering in the Italian breeze. Pedro himself perched on the bowsprit like a malicious bird of prey, scorning handholds as he exulted in victory. There was no feeling like the pleasure of bringing a heretic to face the Church's justice.

The gangplank thudded loudly as it hit the side of the jetty, and Pedro stroked the mane of his horse before swinging himself into the saddle. The black mare whinnied, as if eager to taste blood, and its impatience mirrored its master's.

Pedro swept an arm at the stairs that led to the warship's lower decks. "Bring out the prisoner!" he thundered. "Let him spend his last hours in the sunlight all demons despise!"

Kurt, meanwhile, was roughly seized from his spot in the brig and practically frog-marched up the stairs, pushed and shoved the entire way. He let the guards have their fun, for Kurt no longer had the strength to fight back. Weeks of malnourishment and casual beatings had taken their toll on him, and Kurt's eyes practically screamed as he emerged from the darkness and into the bright midmorning sun.

Kurt looked like a cadaver. His once-strong arms and legs were now weak with fatigue and disuse, his once-bright pupils now faded and dull. Kurt's blue fur, so glossy and soft before, now clung to his wasted from like an ill-fitting robe. The manacles around his wrists and ankles made it almost impossible to walk, and Kurt found himself wishing that Pedro would just kill him and get it over with.

Somewhere, one of Pedro's men struck up a slow, steady beat on his drum, and Kurt slowly, brokenly shuffled forward, to the cheers of every Inquisitor present.

So absorbed were they in Kurt's suffering that they didn't notice the smaller vessel moored just outside the harbor's entrance….

_Meanwhile…._

Kitty gasped in horror and shock at what she saw through Black John Hughes's spyglass. Kurt was practically dead already! How could those men have treated him that way…?

She stifled a sob as she handed the instrument back to the good Captain. In a rare show of compassion not seen outside of his crew, Hughes laid a hand on Kitty's shaking shoulder. "There, there, lass. 'Twill be all right, ye'll see."

Kitty nodded, sniffling and wiping her eyes. This was no time to get emotional; if she and Hughes were going to have any chance at saving Kurt, then a clear head was absolutely imperative. Grieving and sadness would come later. Right now, Kitty needed to focus on the job at hand.

Hughes closed his eyes momentarily, no doubt fantasizing about impaling Hughes on the tip of his sword. The Captain's sentiment was shared by every single man aboard; Hughes's assumptions about his crew had spot-on, and the _Ranger _was now a beehive of vengeful pirates, who were all practically foaming at the mouth with hatred of Sanchez and his followers.

One would no longer be able to infer their occupation by their dress, however. Hughes had wisely ordered his men to discard their ragged finery for more modest, ordinary sailor's garb to give an illusion of legitimacy. After all, Rome was the center of all Christendom, a place of piety home to the Pope himself.

Pirates were hardly welcome here.

Hughes had not excused himself from going incognito. He had put away his gaudy rings and jewelry, and an ordinary sailor's cap took the place of his wide-brimmed hat. He had trimmed his beard, too, and even cleaned under his fingernails. Hughes and all his hearties looked for all the world like ordinary merchant seamen.

But, at the risk of sounding clichéd, looks can be deceiving.

Now he turned to Kitty, and a grim smile stretched his face. "We'll wait 'till Sanchez 'as disembarked afore goin' ashore," he said. "An' even then, it'd be better t'go after dark. I've no doubt that Sanchez'd recognize me."

"But what about Kurt?" Kitty practically exclaimed."

"Lass, I know what I'm doin'," Hughes stated. "An' in my experience, surprise attacks 'ave a better chance of succeedin' under cover o' darkness. We need to wait until the time's right."

"Ahoy the _Ranger!"_

Hughes abruptly turned his head and glanced over the side. His first officer, Smith, and sever others were returning in a small rowboat. From the expression on Smith's face, he apparently had good news.

"Throw 'em a line!" Hughes orderd. "Get them back aboard!"

Smith saluted before speaking. "I did just as ye asked, Cap'n."

"An' ye weren't seen?" Hughes countered, ignoring Kitty's confused expression.

"Nay, sir. I counted about fifty, includin' Pedro 'imself. I'd say we outnumber 'im."

"That rascal's gotten too cocky," Hughes chuckled to himself.

"What is all this about?" Kitty asked bewilderedly.

"I sent ol' Smith and three others ashore last night," Hughes replied. "I wanted to see 'ow many soldiers Pedro was bringin' with him before we rescued yer friend, Ms. Pryde. I thought he'd 'ave more, t'be perfectly honest, but I suppose Sanchez has gotten complacent. Everyone fears him, so it be inconceivable that someone'd attack him. That gives us the edge."

Kitty thought about that for a moment. "I see," she said finally. "And am I to assume you have a plan?"

"Aye."

"Would you care to enlighten me?"

"Of course," Hughes nodded courteously before blowing on his whistle. Instantly, the deck was packed with a hundred bloodthirsty pirates, each straining to hear what their Captain had to say. Hughes made sure everyone was in attendance before speaking.

"I know we ain't accustomed t'helpin' others besides ourselves," he began, "but even the likes of us draw th'line somewhere." A ripple of assent greeted this statement, and Hughes continued. "But killin' a poor bloke just 'cause 'e looks a bit diff'ren than everyone else? Not proper that isn't, mates. Not proper at all. This feller ain't done nothin' t'deserve what's bin done to 'im, and this young lass has showed bravery and courage in trying to rescue 'im. An' we all admire courage, don't we?" A few scattered shouts of support rang out, and Hughes plunged his dagger into the mast. "That bastard Pedro nearly did me in a few years back, ye all know this to be true. An' I say it be time to teach that namby-pamby that Black John Hughes and his maties _never _let a crime go unpunished! Whaddaya say, lads? Are we gonna let an innocent man die?"

"NO!"

"Are we gonna let Sanchez get away with spillin' th' blood of our maties?"

"_NO!"_

"_Then are ye with me?"_

A hundred voices roared back at him. "_AYE, CAP'N! AYE!"_

"Then sharpen yer swords an' ready yer pistols, men! We move out at dusk!"

Amidst much shouting and waving of weapons, Hughes's salty crew went about their tasks with zeal, each man blazing with anger and a desire to kill as many Spaniards as possible.

Hughes looked at Kitty somberly. "Ye know we'll all die if'n we don't pull this off."

Kitty gazed out at the sprawling city of Rome, and her voice was laced with steel.

"Then what have we got to lose?"

A/N: Uh, oh! Looks like the endgame is fast approaching! Will there be a happy ending for Kitty and Kurt? Will Black John Hughes have his revenge? And will the evil Cardinal Vittorio ever be brought to justice? You'll soon find out, 'cause the end of this story is fast approaching! And as always, PLEASE REVIEW! ^^

Very soon, I'll have one story down, and two more to go….

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	17. Chapter 17

Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 17: To Rescue Kurt

_Rome, Italy, just after nightfall…_

Kitty tried to contain her anxiety and her supper, which was made somewhat difficult by the bucking motion of the rowboat. The small craft was tossed like a cork in a bottle as it slowly approached the glittering jewel of the Eternal City.

Kitty's hand tightened around the hilt of the sword she carried, to the point that the pressure turned her knuckles white. Every nerve in her body was on edge, every sense on high alert, and every molecule her being dedicated to the mission before her. The prospect of taking the fight to Pedro and his men certainly had the element of surprise, but there were other problems to consider. First, this whole plan hinged on the fact that Kitty would be able to find Kurt in the first place, that he was even alive at all, that she could get him out of the city in one piece, _and _that the Spaniards didn't kill them both.

Kitty and her allies, the pirates under Black John Hughes, were facing a stacked deck. This was common knowledge to all involved. But even so, Hughes had given the order to go ahead with the plan, even going so far as to muffle the boat's oars so as not to give themselves away.

A movement to her left caught Kitty's eye, and she shifted slightly in between the two burly companions that shared the seat on either side of her. This mission would not be undertaken by Kitty and a handful of others; indeed, a hundred well-armed and well-rested pirates were going ashore in an almost miniature armada, each and every one of them itching for a good fight.

Hughes did not share their enthusiasm. He stood silently in the prow, a beacon of vengeful fury, and his scarred hands kept running over the hilt of his sword. Kitty had no doubt that the two men would clash before the night was over.

Then, a large bump and a heavy scraping heralded landfall, and Hughes swung himself onto the sand with an ease borne of practice. His officer gathered beside him, and Kitty listened too as he went over their scheme once again.

"Smith, take forty and create a distraction at the prison," Hughes ordered. "Make as much noise as possible. We need Pedro's men otherwise involved so's Kitty can get inside. I'll take another two score with me as backup. The rest o' ye, stay 'ere, keep out o' sight and be ready to cast off on my signal. We'll need to get out o' here sharpish once our lass 'as rescued 'er friends."

"Aye, Captain," Smith nodded dutifully. Hughes clapped him on the shoulder.

"Luck go wi' ye. Now let's be off."

Silent as moonlit shadows, Kitty and the pirates headed into the streets of Rome.

_Minutes later…_

The guard took a pinch of sniff from a metal can grumbling disgustedly to himself as he made his rounds. His metal cuirass bore the insignia of the Inquisitorial Home Guard, an almost Gestapo-like secret police charged with "securing order" in Rome. But any feelings of patriotism had long since vanished from him, and he swore under his breath at his hard luck. What was the point in patrolling if no one was even out and about? Why couldn't he just go back to the tavern and-

Any further mutinous thoughts vanished like the wind, for as the guard passed a darkened alley, a meaty hand clapped over his mouth and dragged him inside.

The unfortunate Inquisitor almost wet himself with terror at the sight of Black John and his men, and would have begged for mercy if he had not been gagged.

The pirate leader pressed a dagger to his captive's lips. "Where is it?"

"Mmmf?" The Inquisitor made a confused noise, and apparently it was not the answer Hughes desired. The deadly blade pressed against the man's throat, and Hughes gave an almost bestial growl. "Where be the so-called demon? Where is it bein' kept?"

The guard gestured in a particular direction, deeper into the city. "An' what cell might he be bein' held in?" Hughes pressed.

The captive held up five fingers, then two.

"Fifth cell on the second floor, eh?"

The Spaniard nodded vigorously, and Hughes smiled in an almost friendly manner. "Thankee kindly," the pirate said, just before cutting his prisoner's throat.

Kitty felt the bile in her stomach roll, but Hughes merely wiped the dagger on the hem of his coat. "Are ye all right, lass?" he asked, almost apologetically.

"Y-Yes," Kitty stammered. "But was that necessary?"

" 'Fraid so," Hughes said. "If'n I'd let 'im go he'd have warned the rest of Pedro's men and we'd have been slaughtered before we'd taken three more paces. Now c'mon!"

_Meanwhile…_

The large fortress used by the Inquisition to torture its prisoners was certainly an intimidating sight to most people. Its high walls and battlements lent it a menacing air, and soldiers patrolled the parapets in an almost ceaseless parade of shining weapons and tramping feet. The mouths of cannon bristled on all sides to deter attackers, and any attempt to invade such a structure would certainly have seemed suicidal.

But Mr. Smith and his men were not most people. They had taken several such fortifications during their raids in the Caribbean, each and every one said to be "impregnable". The pirates were old hands at this sort of work, and they had no doubt that this particular fort would fall amidst smoke and fire like all the others.

Though Smith could not have known it, the fort looked much more frightening than it actually was. The cast-iron cannons guarding it were now coated with rust and degraded from disuse, and its garrison was more well-trained in parade ground maneuvers than actual warfare. The soldiers were ill-disciplined and lazy, unlike their approaching foes. Warfare was what these men did for a living.

With a wave of his sword, Smith sent a flurry of iron grapnels sailing through the air, and the barbed claws made a dull _clank _as they latched onto the stone. With daggers in their teeth, swords at their sides and pistols in their hands, the pirates scaled up the wall on the sturdy ropes in utter, practiced silence.

It was abject misfortune, therefore, that one particular soldier had his back turned at just the right time for Smith and several others to climb over the battlements. One man tiptoed behind the Spaniard, and a tap on his shoulder caused the man to turn around.

With a single swipe, the pirate parted the man's head from his shoulders before ascending the spiral staircase to the ground, his mates close behind him…

Inside the fort's barracks, several officers and men were engaged in a rather high-stakes game of cards. Many others were either asleep in their bunks or tending to their weapons, trying to relive the boredom of yet another-

_CRASH!_

Something shattered a window, and a flurry of grenadoes rolled along the wooden floorboards. These exploded seconds later, every man inside was either blown to pieces or shredded by shrapnel. The barracks were turned into a bloody slaughterhouse with a few well-placed explosives.

Smith grinned ferally. "Git ready, mates. Someone will have 'eard that…"

_At the same time…_

Just a few hundred yards away, Black John Hughes smiled to himself. The once-proud fortress was now engulfed in a shroud of smoke, and he could clearly make out the shouts, the firing of pistols and the ringing of swords. Smith had done his job well.

Kitty felt her knees quake slightly as Hughes winked at his men. "Time to throw caution away, lads!" Hughes roared. "Attack!"

Like a tidal wave bristling with deadly metal, the pirates bashed aside the fort's ruined gates and joined the fray. Kitty brandished her sword as well, her heart pounding a relentless tattoo as she neared ever closer to her beloved Kurt. Hughes had held up his end of the deal, and now the young woman slipped unnoticed into the darkness of the prison's catacombs…

The fort had been engulfed in chaos in the wake of the surprise attack. Spaniards and pirates fought everywhere, from the parapets above to the lower levels cluttered with bodies. Everything not made of stone had been put to the torch in the midst of combat, and the fighting in question was unbelievably savage. The opposing sides fought with fists and pistols, blades and belaying pins, with no quarter being given or asked.

The battle was inevitably turning in the pirates' favor. The seasoned killers were faring rather well with the lazy, overfed garrison, with two Spaniards dying for each casualty the pirates suffered.

Hughes drew his sword almost lovingly, parrying a thrust to the stomach and slashing his foe's belly open. The Spaniard dropped like a stone, and Hughes sidestepped a bayonet thrust before shooting its wielder at point-blank range. He then scavenged the fallen man's firearm, and Hughes used the hard wooden stock to deflect a halberd's downward swing. A flick of his wrist sent the Spaniard's weapon spinning away, and Hughes immediately pinned the man on the bayonet's point before using his empty pistol butt to bash another foe's skull in. Bits of brain and blood sprayed Hughes's cheeks, but he didn't even break his stride.

To his left, Hughes saw an Inquisitor approach one of his hearties with a drawn sword. In response the Captain yanked a boarding axe from his belt and threw it with mighty precision. The hatchet's blade almost split the Spaniard's head in two, and Hughes laughed with exultation.

Then, by chancing a look upward, Hughes came eye to eye with Pedro Sanchez.

Hate and rage filled the pirate's very core, and Hughes wielded his blade like the Grim Reaper's scythe as he fought to close with the villainous Spaniard…

While an epic battle raged outside, Kitty sped through the prison's dank and reeking corridors with an almost unnatural speed. Her mind flashed back to the directions given by the doomed Inquisitor, and Kitty accordingly ascended a filth-encrusted staircase that carried her into the dungeon's upper levels. By the time she reached the end of the stairs, Kitty was short of breath and red in the face. But mere exhaustion would not suffice to keep her from achieving her goal. She practically flew down another hallway, and it took a few seconds for Kitty to realize that she had passed the very cell she had been looking for. A quick backtrack down the way she came, and Kitty easily found the cell where Kurt was allegedly being held.

But the voice coming from within was not Kurt's.

Inside the dank and dirty cell, Cardinal Vittorio laughed callously as he described his plan in lurid detail with all the panache and heartlessness of a James Bond villain. In his egomania and supreme overconfidence, it was inconceivable to the old man that his plan could go awry.

And go awry it did, for Kitty flung open the door and pushed Vittorio to the ground. Had she been thinking clearly Kitty probably would have had to kill him, but her joy at seeing Kurt alive overloaded any coherent thought. For his part, Vittorio scrabbled to his feet and disappeared down the hallway.

Kitty didn't even notice his departure. Tears brimmed in her eyes, tears of both joy and sadness, and she cradled Kurt's head in her hands. The golden eyes she had grown to love focused on her, and Kurt's furry fingers clasped around her own with a strength unheard of in such an emaciated state.

With considerable effort, Kurt whispered hoarsely, "Knew…you'd come…for me…"

"Shh," Kitty tried to quiet him. "Do not speak, Kurt. Save your strength."

"But…that man…the Pope…have to stop him…"

"What?"

"The Cardinal you saw…is going to try to kill the Pope…and when he does, I'll be blamed…"

"Then we must stop him!" Kitty said with determination as she helped him up.

"How?" Kurt asked. "We…have no proof…"

"I will think of something," Kitty said shortly. "But first we need to warn His Holiness!"

"Then we should…get going."

_Outside in the courtyard…_

A dead Spaniard slumped to the ground, covered in blood, and Black John Hughes stepped over the fresh corpse with vengeance in his veins. Come Hell or high water, he vowed, Sanchez would not live to see the dawn.

Many of Pedro's men wouldn't, either.

It would be evident to anyone with half a brain that the battle was lost for the Inquisitors. The elite of Europe's soldiers, the cream of the military crop, fell in droves before Black John's pirates. Like corn before the reaper they were cut down, one by one, and Sanchez occupied himself by seeking any means of escape whilst encouraging his fighters to make a stand.

"Fight, you fools!" Pedro snarled. "They are merely pirates, WE are the soldiers of GOD!"

"An' yet ye act no better than th'likes of me," Hughes stated coldly. "The Good Book says that God is merciful, yet ye showed my mates no such thing when ye gunned 'em down all those years ago. I owe ye a debt in blood, mate, an' I've come to collect!"

Recognition dawned in Pedro's eyes. "Seascum," he spat. "Heathen pirate! You will join the demon at the stake!" With that statement, Sanchez's rapier slithered out of its sheath.

Hughes caressed the edged of his cutlass. "Not if I kill ye first, Spaniard."

The two blades clashed…

_Vatican City_

Cardinal Vittorio struggled to keep his cool as his feet echoed in the wide corridor. That…_girl_ had been able to free the demon, but the evil Cardinal refused to admit to anyone, even himself, that his plan was in jeopardy. Pedro and his men would no doubt catch the two of them before they escaped, Vittorio reasoned. Granted, there was the distraction of the pirates, but they, too, would be dealt with shortly. Nothing could go wrong.

His withered, clawlike fingers knocked softly upon His Holiness's bedchamber. The door opened, and Pope Gregory XIII's benevolent, smiling face greeted the usurper.

The Cardinal bowed and even smiled back, but inwardly he was fuming at having to grovel to such a soft-hearted wretch. "I brought you your medicine for this evening, Your Holiness," Vittorio said humbly. "I know from experience how the damp night air makes one's bones ache."

"I am most grateful," the Pope said ruefully. "My old joints are creaking like a rusty gate."

"Then I believe this mussel shell and agrimony broth will do you good," Vittorio simpered as he handed the Holy Father the poisoned goblet.

The Pope went to bring the cup to his lips, and Vittorio's eyes widened in triumph-

"STOP!"

Both men turned instinctively at the loud noise, and Cardinal Vittorio was absolutely aghast to find Kitty and her demon lover standing in the doorway to His Holiness's chambers. Upon seeing Kurt, the Pope's hand strayed to the crucifix around his neck…

But Kitty's accusation made him momentarily forget Kurt's bizarre appearance. "Whatever is in that cup, do not drink it!" she cried. "It is poisoned! He," Kitty pointed to the cringing Cardinal, "is trying to kill you so that he might take your place!"

"What? That is absurd!" The Pope replied. "Vittorio has always been loyal."

The creature draped about the young woman's arms spoke, and its voice was dry and parched. "If you do not believe us, then have the Cardinal drink from the goblet. Then we will see."

"A splendid idea," His Holiness agreed. "Would you mind?" he asked, turning to his most "loyal" servant.

The color drained from Vittorio's face, and with shaking hands, he picked up the chalice-

-And threw it across the room. The evil Cardinal used the distraction to grab the Holy Father and lift a dagger to his neck.

The prospect of instant death might intimidate some people, but not the Pope. He just sagged, as if weighed down by sadness, and his voice was filled with the hurt of betrayal. "Why?" His Holiness asked simply.

"Why do you think?" Vittorio hissed in his ear. "You were always to soft, too weak! You never came down hard on the legions of heretics that infest Christendom, you pardoned thousands of the deaths they deserved! But when I take your place, I will expunge every last heretic and every last dissenter from our realm! The fires will burn long and brightly, and you will be forgotten while I live on in greatness!"

"I don't think so."

In his psychopathic rant, Vittorio hadn't noticed the so-called demon sidling up next to him. Something cold and hard pressed against the old man's temple, and Kurt Wagner's voice showed no emotion. "Let him go, and I'll let you keep your life."

"NEVER!"

Vittorio whirled around, plunging the dagger into Kurt's chest-

-But not before the heroic mutant pulled the trigger. There was a flash, a bang, and an instant later, Cardinal Vittorio fell dead to the floor.

Kitty screamed at the hilt that protrude from Kurt's chest, and her arms caught him as he collapsed like a fallen redwood. "No," she sobbed. "No, no, no…"

Kurt gripped her hand suddenly, tugging her ear close to his mouth so he could whisper in her ear.

"I love you."

Then he sagged in her arms, and the tears flowed freely down Kitty's face.

But the Holy Father was not giving up on the mysterious stranger who had saved his life. He tore strips of fabric from his papal robe, staunching the blood flow in order to remove the dagger still lodged in Kurt's body. The Pope pressed an ear to Kurt's mouth. "Do not grieve yet, my child," he told Kitty. "He lives still, but we must act quickly to save him. You will find a needle and thread by my bedside. Would you bring it to me, please?"

_Back at the fortress…_

Only two men remained inside the dungeon's ruined walls. The pirates had returned to their vessel on their Captain's orders, and the Spaniards were either dead or dying. The buccaneers had carried an overwhelming victory, but one particular Inquisitor was not willing to admit defeat. There would be no victory until one of them slew the other.

Black John Hughes and Pedro Sanchez clashed for what seemed like the millionth time. Neither man had managed to wound the other, and both were beginning to tire. Hughes had discarded his long overcoat, and Pedro had forsaken his cuirass in favor of more speedy attacks. Like savage dogs they had fought, around the walltops, down the stairs, through the courtyard and up the stairs again. Pedro's rapier may have had a longer reach than Hughes's short, heavy cutlass, but it was also more fragile. It was only inevitable that Hughes decided to break Pedro's blade so as to disarm him before running the evil Inquisitor through.

Hughes lunged with a heavy overhand swing, as if to cleave Sanchez in two. Pedro responded just as Hughes had planned, with an overhead block, and the razor-sharp blades rasped together as the two combatants came almost face to face.

"You will die screaming, pirate," Pedro hissed. "I will make you beg for mercy before I finally kill you."

"Ye will not live to see tomorrow, that I promise!" Hughes replied grimly. The old pirate twisted his weapon so as to get Pedro's sword out of the way, and in that split second, he lunged-

-But was stopped by the point of Pedro's _main gauche _dagger, which the Spaniard had hidden behind his back.

Hughes coughed, and blood spilled onto his beard as Pedro grinned maniacally down at him. "You lose, seascum," he gloated. "And you will burn in the fires of Hell forever."

But the pirate was not one to just lie down and perish. With all the fight left in his scarred body, Black John Hughes drew a pistol and pointed it right between Pedro's eyes. "If that…be the case, Sanchez…I'll be havin' some company…"

The last thing Pedro Sanchez ever saw was the flash of gunpowder.

The Spaniard slumped against the walls, dead as a doornail, and Hughes's voice still retained a touch of his old humor as he collapsed alongside his fallen enemy.

The pirate grinned crookedly. "In all my life…I never did a damn thing worth doin' till now…I think I'd rather die savin' lives rather than takin' 'em…" His heart began to slow, and Hughes blinked his eyes blearily. "Wait fer me, my ol' shipmates…I'll see ye…soon enough…"

A harsh rattle escaped the man's lips, and Black John Hughes died.

But strangely, he was smiling.

_The Vatican_

Kitty felt like she would die from worry. Almost an hour had passed since Vittorio's final act of malice, and in that time the Pope had called his personal healers and physicians to try and save Kurt's life. Now the wait seemed an eternity, and her heart ached for news, any news, about the state of her friend's health.

The Holy Father, seated next to her, clasped her hand in a comforting gesture. "Have faith," he said simply. "It will be all right." To be perfectly honest, the Pope wasn't too optimistic on Kurt's chances for survival, but this young lady didn't need to know that. His heart hung heavy in his chest, weighted down by the tales Kitty had told of the Inquisition's savagery, of their gleeful torment of the one called Kurt. His Holiness was now utterly convinced that the young man was not demonic or supernatural in nature; the misshapen young one had even risked, and quite possibly sacrificed, his life. To do all that even after being treated so… The Pope shook his head sadly. The boy was so pure inside, but no one had ever bothered to look past his appearance… If the young man survived the night, the Holy Father vowed, he would place both him and the girl under his personal protection, free of persecution forever.

Then his thoughts were diverted, for one of the surgeons had emerged from the makeshift sickbay. The Pope's voice was grave. "What news?"

The doctor shook his head in bewilderment. "I can hardly believe it myself, Holy Father, but the blue one lives. Granted, he is malnourished and possessing a variety of injuries, but with time he should make a full recovery. The Lord has surely shown favor upon him, for I have seen stronger men die from lesser injuries."

Kitty gave a hoarse, wordless shout of unbridled joy, and her feet practically flew across the floor as she hurried to see her beloved.

The doctor went to stop her, but the Pope gently restrained him. "Let them have some time," he said. "The poor girl has been worried sick about him."

"You don't mean—" The surgeon's voice rose with disbelief.

"It is true," His Holiness murmured, "that love comes in even the most peculiar forms…"

Kurt Wagner opened his eyes blearily. The corners of his vision were fuzzy, but the mutant was far from complaining. He hadn't expected to open his eyes ever again after Vittorio plunged a blade in his chest. He hurt, but not as much as he would have expected. Kurt assumed that a healer or someone else of the medical profession had given him some kind of painkilling herb.

Then a massive weight pressed on his chest, but even though the pressure pained his aching body, Kurt's heart soared with joy as Kitty buried her face in his shoulder.

"I thought you were dead," she sniffled quietly once she had gotten a hold on her emotions.

"I wouldn't die _that _easily," Kurt joked, but then his voice turned sober. "Are they still going to kill me?"

"Are you jesting?" Kitty arched an eyebrow. "You saved the Pope's _life _, Kurt. Think about that for a moment."

"So I'm in the clear?" he asked hopefully.

"We both are," Kitty replied with a smile. "And His Holiness has assured me that the Inquisition will never come near us again. He was quite angry when I told him about what they did to you."

"Weren't you…with someone? I could have sworn he looked like a pirate."

Sadness crossed Kitty's face. "His name was Hughes, Kurt. I hired him to ferry me here, and he voluntarily assisted me in trying to free you. They found his body in the fort where you were being held…alongside the corpse of Pedro Sanchez."

"Hughes killed him?"

"Most likely," Kitty nodded.

"Saves me the trouble," Kurt snorted. "But still… from what you've said, he didn't bad as pirates go."

Kitty merely nodded, but Kurt cupped her chin underneath a furry finger. His golden eyes gazed into hers, and in those eyes Kitty saw her entire future, a future with Kurt always by her side.

His voice was husky. "I've…been waiting so long to do this…I love you, Kitty."

She smiled back. "I love you too, Kurt."

And with a slow, cherished kiss, the pain and agony of the past months washed away like dirt under a heavy rain. Everything else on Earth was forgotten as Kitty and Kurt embraced.

The future, _their _future, lay ahead of them both.

_~The End~_

A/N: WOW! That was a long chapter! XD I hope you all have enjoyed this last, and greatest installment of "Hunted and Hated", and I thank all of you for your continued readership and warm reviews (and speaking of reviews: I _did _try to make this last installment epic and action-packed, and I would REALLY like to hear your opinion of it, especially the fight scenes! ^^) I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! And for the record, the readers have spoken! By almost unanimous vote, it has been decided that my next installment will be "Devil of the Sea"! So keep a weather eye on the horizon, for this author is _far _from done!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


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